


Fix You

by hemotyping



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Death, Cults, Drugs, Established Relationship, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Juggalos, Marriage, Medium CA, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mystery, Organized Crime, Past Character Death, Psychological Horror, Relationship Issues, Serial Killers, Stabdads, Thriller, blood castes, freaky houses, implied PTSD, karkat and terezi are detectives, moral crises, nasty kink mentions, rose and jane are fbi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 61,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7381345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemotyping/pseuds/hemotyping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the town of Medium, California is released from the control of the cult/crime ring/subculture known as Alternia, Karkat Vantas returns to his hometown with the knowledge that finally, it's safe. Years later, he has a home, a boyfriend, a job, and a determination to uncover the secrets of Alternia and the rumors that it's returning-- but he may find that the evil he's trying to eradicate is a little closer than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood and Scars

This town has a lot of scars. Every town does, you imagine, but this one more than most. Every city has its subcultures and hidden cultures and underground nests of whatever perverts or druggies dwell in the shadows and seedy motels, but nothing you’ve ever seen compares to Medium, California. It covers up the scars, of course, pushes the skeletons further back into the closet like any other town so tourists or passers-by or even citizens have no idea of what used to happen beneath their noses (and occasionally, these days, has allegedly started happening again) but the intimately native or well-trained eye can see it. At least, the parts of it that show. In your work, you’ve found yourself peeling up layer after layer of horrors and secrets that you never would have imagined, only to end up with more questions, and you’ve only just begun.

The door slams, and you are torn from your thoughts, dropping your idle pen in surprise. It’s a sudden, slightly echoey sound, different from the creak and thump you’d grown accustomed to-- you’re still acclimating to this rather opulent new housing situation. You figure you didn’t hear the car pull into the driveway.

“I’m home,” calls your boyfriend of around two years, Eridan Ampora. “Forgot the spaghetti, but it’s whatever really.”

You sigh at him. “What I’m hearing is we’re ordering pizza tonight,” you respond. There’s the muffled _thump-thump_ of two heavy grocery bags being basically dropped on the hardwood floor of the foyer. “Hey, careful of the eggs, fucker. Or did you forget those too?”

Eridan gives a mirthless laugh, stepping into the room that has become your study. You immediately act like you’re hard at work and he’s disturbing you. As you glare stubbornly at the pages in front of you, he plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Very funny.”

“You said you were going to put away the groceries today,” you remind him after turning around in your chair to give him a proper kiss.

He pouts down at you. “I thought you forgot.”

“Dickweed. Go do it before everything spoils.” You turn back to your cluttered desk, rifling through loose pages of notes.

Just then, your phone rings. Before you can groan and make a blind swipe at the place you remember your phone being, Eridan snatches it up and answers the call. “This is Karkat Vantas’s phone,” he says almost mechanically, pushing his glasses up on his nose. His eyebrows raise slightly. “He ain’t gonna be happy with that.” You shoot him a questioning look. “Yeah, yeah, tell it to Kar, you know I don’t give a shit. Yeah, see you around.” He hangs up.

“What the--”

“Gam needs you to bail him out,” Eridan answers casually, handing you your phone.

“ _Again?_ ”

“You act like you’re surprised.”

“Yeah, I guess I should know better by now,” you grumble, standing up. You grab the car keys out of Eridan’s back pocket and make your bimonthly trip to the local jail.

* * *

 

“I’m telling you, man, a few more misdemeanors and you’re going to end up in front of a proper fucking jury, and not even I can pull enough strings to get you out of that situation,” you reprimand Gamzee for at least the eleventh time.

He shrugs, smiling vacantly. “It’s all gonna up and motherfucking work out, bro. Don’t you be worrying about me.” His arms are crossed casually and he’s leaning back in the passenger seat.

“It’s pretty damn hard _not_ to worry about you, Gamzee.”

“Well, that ain’t my motherfucking fault, is it?” You take your eyes off the red light ahead to give him an incredulous look. He grins back at you. “You know, brother, shit never woulda motherfucking been all and like this back in the day. Back when… motherfucking Alternia, bro.”

You smack your head against the steering wheel. “I swear to god, that is the most ignorant and just- just callously insensitive thing I have ever heard. What the fuck are you even  _ on  _ right now.”

“You really wanna motherfucking know?” 

“No. No, I mother _ fucking _ do not.”

He laughs as you pull into the driveway and physically tug him into Eridan’s--  _ your _ \-- house, where your boyfriend is dutifully putting away groceries. You’ve developed a hypothesis that he’s actually productive when you’re not around. Naturally, he sees you and forgets entirely about the nectarines on the counter. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the kitchen’s doorframe a few feet away from you. 

“Hey,” you reply, gently shoving him in the chest. “I brought the delinquent.”

“Hey, delinquent. What’re you in for this time?”

Gamzee shrugs. “Honestly, bro, my mind ain’t motherfucking remembering all that.” 

You sigh. “Anyways,” you declare, changing the subject, “I’d  _ love _ to stay and chat, but I have work to do. Gamzee, if you’re going to be staying overnight, work it out with Eridan.”

Gamzee and Eridan nod, and you retreat to your desk. There’s a manila envelope sitting amongst the papers, and you open it, thumbing through reports and newspaper clippings and photos of what little evidence was collected during the ‘old days’. You don’t need to do this, but you’d rather not go into work tomorrow with no new leads again.

* * *

 

Four hours and a few slices of pizza later, you and Eridan are in bed, and you have no new leads.

“Gamzee said something weird today in the car,” you mumble into Eridan’s soft pajama shirt. 

“Everything he says is weird,” Eridan replies, gently running his thumb over the small of your back.

“That’s true, but this one thing really... Stuck with me, I guess.”

He hums softly. “What was it?”

“That, uh, this wouldn’t have happened back in the day? Or things wouldn’t have been like this. Back when… you know. Alternia.” Eridan tenses just slightly, like he always does when you mention that shit. You can’t blame him. You have no idea what happened to him during those years, what he saw, what he heard. You figure that being who he is- an Ampora- he could be a valuable witness, but he’s never opened up about it, not even to you, and you won’t push him.

“That’s probably true,” he says, his voice part sleepy, part careful. “He wouldn’a gotten in jail, at least. Being high-up, a Makara, an’ all- the cops couldn’t touch him if they wanted to.”

“They didn’t want to?”

“Fuck no. Some of them were perfectly fine the way things were, some were plants, all that. And they were all fucking terrified of his dad, so.”

“Oh.”

He pauses. “You’re gonna write that down, aren’t you?”

You yawn. “No, I’m too lazy. I am going to tell Terezi about it, though. I don’t have to mention your name if you aren’t comfortable with that. I’ll just have someone run some extra background checks on the police force, make sure no one has a tendency to let shit slide.”

“If you don’t gotta use my name, don’t. But… that sounds like a good plan.” He sounds uncomfortable. You don’t push it.

“I love you,” you say, wiggling closer to him.

“I love you too,” he replies, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Night.”

“Night.”

* * *

 

Detective Inspector Pyrope nods along to your story. When you finish, she says, “Eridan told you that, didn’t he?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

She makes a  _ tsk _ sound. “Why won’t you bring him in? I’m sure he has all kinds of information. I could get it out of him.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “That’s  _ exactly  _ why I won’t bring him in. He’s my boyfriend, Terezi. There’s a certain amount of mutual respect that goes into a relationship, you know.” She huffs. “Why’s Eridan so special, anyways? His dad was… important, or something?”

Terezi cackles. “In a sense." She pauses for effect. "It’s all about the blood, Karkles.”

“What?”

“You haven’t figured this out yet? Even  _ I  _ remember it. Maybe you’re not as good a detective as you think.” You glare at her. “Anyways, Alternia as a whole was pretty much based on this caste system centered around blood types.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Let me finish. The way it worked was this hierarchy of blood types: AB-, B-, A-, O-, O+, A+, B+, AB+. Top to bottom.” You casually pull out a notepad and begin writing this down. “I have type O blood, which made me a midblood. Your boyfriend-o has type AB-. Super rare, top of the spectrum. So does your friend Gamzee. And Feffles, naturally. That’s why her family was in charge, back when they had control of Medium.”

“What about me? I have type AB blood.”

“You’re AB  _ positive _ , Karkles. Exact opposite. Plus, the GHB decided that sickle cell anemia was a Super Sinful thing to have or whatever. That’s the real reason you got sent away during those years- you would’ve gotten real fucked up. And that’s why they killed Kankri,” she adds casually.

You flinch. “Why did whateverthefuck BFG hate anemics?”

“Cause your dad was one, dumbass. They wanted a reason to go after him. I’m really surprised you didn’t know all this.”

“We only just started on this case, Terezi. It wasn’t like I’ve been actively searching for a fucked up blood caste system.”

“Well you should  _ start _ looking for it, Karkat. If Alternia really is ‘living on’, that kind of casteism is where you’ll find it.”

* * *

 

That evening, Eridan picks you up from work to take you to dinner. On the way there, some asshole decides to cut him off. “Fuckin’ gutterblood,” he mutters viciously as he slams the horn. You narrow your eyes, but say nothing.


	2. A Basis of Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and Terezi talk about Alternia; Karkat and Eridan watch a movie.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pressing your fingers against your temples. “Okay. Okay, let’s just- consolidate all the information we have just so we have some basis of understanding and it seems like we’re getting somewhere.”

Terezi cackles, shuffling through the papers on the conference room desk while simultaneously navigating her laptop with one hand. “Whatever you say, Detective Vantas.”

You mutter something unintelligible even to you, getting out your notepad and clicking between the seventeen different windows you have open on your computer. “Alright, let’s start at the beginning. Alternia.”

“A bunch of weirdos get together and decide to start an equally weird juggalo cult dealing in and virtually venerating crime- particularly murder- and drugs, and all other sorts of especially illegal things. The cult of the Mirthful Messiahs gains traction, et cetera, et cetera, and a subculture starts to blossom out of it,” she rattles off.

“Fast forward a few years, this ‘crime culture’ called Alternia has control of the city,” you continue. “Why?”

“People are scared,” she answers simply. “Fear is the most powerful motive of all.”

“I could debate you on that,” you muse, “but whatever. Yeah, they’re scared. Scared that…”

“That they’re going to die, obviously.”

“Because… the clown fuckers were basically serial killers, right?”

“Right- well- not all of them were members of the cult per se. GHB was the head of the juggalos. HIC ran the city, and Daniel Ampora was really just thrown in with them because he had the right blood type-- but he was definitely in with them, don’t get me wrong.”

You nod. “That’s why he didn’t end up on death row.”

“Yup, only one of the Big Three not to end up with a gravesite and a fancy pseudonym. What prison is he at these days, do you know?”

“No clue. I don’t think Eridan’s ever visited him.”

“Good. Anyways, yeah, basically serial killers. You have no idea what the general feeling around town was like back in the day, Karkles. People were fucking scared, and with good reason.”

“So I’ve heard. Anyways. They have control of Medium, and-- why didn’t higher law enforcement come in and put a stop to this?”

She sighs like you’re a complete idiot, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “Because they didn’t  _ know _ about it, dummy. Everyone in  _ town _ knew about it, but everyone in town was either too scared to tell anyone or they’d been paid off.”

“Right. So they have control of Medium, go around killing people and doing whatever weird-ass shit they want- I mean they were  _ probably _ psychopaths, let’s be real- and then… my dad does his thing--”

“Your dad fucks with the imposed social order, fights the Alternian regime, gets publicly tortured and killed, becoming a martyr for his cause and drawing attention to the fact that hey, maybe there’s something weird going on in that town.”

“You really have no respect for other people’s comfort, do you.”

“Nope.”

You huff. “Okay, well, then people start standing up against the clowns and state and federal law enforcement finally shows up, and now we’re here.”

“All known  _ ringleaders _ -” (you stubbornly ignore her clown pun) “-get arrested, life or death sentence, either way they’re out of the picture.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. “And now rumor has it Alternia’s back.”

“Exactly. And, as you know, we chased these rumors, couldn’t find a source, but they’re everywhere,” she summarizes, reading sideways off a report.

“Well, not everywhere. Just in the places that you’d expect to find word of mouth information on the subject. I bet there are people who haven’t heard. Some people might not know what Alternia is. Don’t let yourself be biased through your proximity to the case, Terezi.”

“We’d know for sure if there were people who haven’t heard the rumors if we went out and asked a bunch of strangers, but of course that’d be ‘unwise’ and ‘spreading paranoia’.” Her finger quotes illustrate her displeasure.

“Whatever. My questions are-” you rest your index finger on a paper covered in your messy handwriting- “one, if the rumors aren’t true, who’s spreading them; two, if the rumors are true, who’s doing this shit? And why?”

“My best guess for that first one is either someone who wishes it were true or someone who just wants to spread fear.” She shrugs.

“And two? You’re the one who’s supposed to have been gathering civilian information this past week.”

She nods, clicking around her laptop. “I’ve got about thirty half-leads. The ones I’m most interested in are these.” She turns her laptop around so you can see the screen, which bears a list of names. Terezi points to the top two. “Equius Zahhak and Gamzee Makara, for starters.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Gamzee? No way, man. He may be a criminal, but not that kind. Trust me, he--”

“They’re not suspects,” she clarifies, cutting you off, “... necessarily. This is a list of people who have been involved by extension in the past and who may have a criminal record and/or a history of suspicious or ‘hemoist’ tendencies. Gamzee’s GHB’s kid, he’s obviously going to be on the list.”

“Is Eridan?”

“Nah, I knew you’d totally lose your shit if he was. More importantly, he’s currently living in the same house as an officer, and I figure you’d notice if there was anything weird going on there. Plus good old Mr. Ampora was never really a leader, just a highblood, not even bad enough to get a death sentence, and there’s no evidence to indicate your boyfriend-o in any criminal stuff.”

“Okay.” You take a sip of your now-lukewarm coffee. “What’s Zahhak’s deal?”

“His dad was known as the executioner,” she explains simply. “Ended up on death row. Equius himself works in a body shop, but there are claims that he’s said some… weird things around blood type.”

“Makes sense.”

“I want to bring them both in for questioning.”

“What?! No!” You jolt upright indignantly. “Look, bring in Zahhak, I don’t give a shit, but not Gamzee.” She raises her eyebrows. “This isn’t about him being my friend, okay, he’s just- I had to bail him out of jail again a couple days ago. He’s not in a good place right now, he might say something falsely incriminating because he’s pretty much always sto-- drunk off his mind one way or another, and at the end of the day I just don’t want to put him in a situation like this. Talking about that shit might be upsetting to him, I don’t know.”

“You’re saying he’s not in a fit state to be questioned?”

“Exactly. Trust me.”

She sighs. “Fine. We’ll bring in Zahhak sometime soon.”

* * *

 

“How was work?” Eridan asks casually as the cable screening of Kenneth Branagh’s  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ goes to commercial. “Or is it  _ classified _ ?”

You snort, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “You know I only say that shit’s classified when I’m pissed at you.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I do. So how was work?”

“Ugh, stressful. I literally had to convince Terezi not to bring Gamzee in for questioning.”

Eridan tenses, just barely. “Shit, really?”

“Yeah. I mean, she agreed pretty easily, and you weren’t even on the list, so don’t worry. She knew how pissed I’d be if she tried to implicate you,” you joke.

“At least we can count on you to keep our asses out of prison, huh,” he replies with a laugh.

You give him a quick kiss. “That’s what I’m here for." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments on Chapter 1! I'm still looking for feedback, as always.  
> Next time: a murder!


	3. Stay Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and Eridan have a domestic; Karkat and Terezi investigate a crime.

A few days later, you are awoken in the middle of the night as an owl and a raccoon duel to the death outside your window, and you are surprised to find that Eridan is not in bed. As your perpetually anxious mind rushes to provide you with a comprehensive list of all the worst-case scenarios here, you push yourself out of bed, noticing that the bathroom light is off, and head downstairs, the house silent except for the muffled sound of your bare feet padding against the floor. When you reach the ground floor, you begin to cautiously patrol the house, halfway not expecting to find him there. You round the corner into the kitchen and the only thing your adjusting eyes can register in the darkness is the light glinting off the two wide eyes looking at you. You fumble the wall beside you for a moment, then flip the light switch. Eridan is sitting on the counter, staring at you like a deer in the headlights. 

“I can explain,” he says quickly. In one of his hands is a spoon, and in the other is a tub of chocolate ice cream. 

“I think I can figure this out for myself, you heartless piece of shit.”

“I--”

“You betrayed me, Eridan. The only reason I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch is for fear that the freezer would be empty in the morning. Give me the ice cream.”

“Kar,” he whines.

“Give me the damn ice cream, jackass,” you say a bit fondly, jumping up onto the counter beside him. He reluctantly hands you the tub and the spoon. You have a few large bites of ice cream, then slide off the counter and put the top back on the lid. After returning the ice cream to the freezer, you grab your ridiculous boyfriend’s hand and pull him back to bed, ignoring his complaints that he has to clean up or whatever the fuck he’s whining about.

* * *

 

Eridan sleeps in the next morning. You, on the other hand, get up at the normal time and make your way back down to the kitchen and, by extension, the coffeemaker. When the coffeepot is as full as it’s going to get, you turn off the machine and dump the filter out into the sink, where its contents meet whatever else is in the sink (a spoon, two forks, a glass, and some substance that you don’t really get a good look at but you’re pretty sure is either chocolate ice cream from last night or marinara sauce from dinner or some combination of the two). You pull the silverware out of the sink and put them in the dishwasher, then turn on the garbage disposal and spray some water around the sink to get everything else down the drain.

By the time Eridan comes downstairs, groggy and a little confused-looking, you are already sitting at the table with your cereal and coffee mug. He drapes himself across your lap and gives you a sleepy kiss. “Good morning,” you say.

“Morning,” he mumbles in response.

On the table, your phone buzzes. You glance at it; it’s a text from Terezi containing simply an address. Knowing her to be an incurable double texter, you wait for the subsequent messages to roll in.

W3V3 GOT 4 L1V3 ON3 

OR R4TH3R, 4 D34D ON3 >:]

TH3R3S B33N 4 MURD3R. M33T M3 4S4P

You practically shove Eridan out of your lap as you stand, stammer some semblance of an explanation, and race up the stairs to get dressed. Once in your bedroom, you strip, then hurriedly put on some loose black jeans and grab a dark gray pullover before running back downstairs. As you slip into the first pair of shoes you lay eyes on, Eridan intercepts you. He pushes the car keys and your daily Hydrea pill (for your anemia) into your hand. “Stay safe,” he says, and then you’re out the door.

* * *

 

When you arrive at the crime scene, it’s like stepping into one of the photographs from the old Alternia files. There are relatively few personnel on the scene, but you assume that’s at Terezi’s behest-- she works better without ‘scrubs’, as she calls them, running around everywhere. The scene in question is an alleyway of sorts, nondescript save for, well, the murder. A few photographers and members of the forensic team scurry about, taking pictures and collecting evidence and such, and at the center of it all is the body, obscured mostly from your view. A certain redhead stands above it, her back turned to you. You walk forward, carefully taking in every detail of the scene around you, until you come to stand beside Terezi. You’re the most unlikely detective ever, you think-- mildly squeamish, vaguely nauseous at the sight of blood, etc., etc. After taking a moment to steel yourself and acclimate to the unsettling stench, you look away from Terezi and down.

The victim is seemingly male, sprawled out in what you believe to be a facedown position on the concrete. The reason you can’t tell whether it (you tend to refer to corpses as “it” in order to keep yourself from thinking too much in the wrong ways) is facedown is that its skull has apparently shattered and caved in, the entire head a bloody mess with what seems to be gray brain matter leaking out. You step backwards and cover your mouth with one hand, gagging audibly. To your right, Terezi takes her eyes off the body for a moment to give you a look that says  _ ‘Would you mind?’ _ . You sink into a squat, taking deep breaths, then get to your feet again. It’s easier to deal with the sight before you now that you’ve taken a few seconds to deal with yourself, so you give Terezi a firm glare of  _ ‘Shut up, I’m fine’  _ as you step forward.

“Any thoughts as to who the perpetrator is?” you ask.

“Spidertroll,” Terezi says with the dramatic conviction of a cop show protagonist.

“That would be  _ hilarously _ funny if we weren’t currently standing over a dead body, Detective Pyrope.” She cackles nonetheless. You sigh. “I’m serious. Any idea?”

“Aliens, Karkles.”

You nod. If there’s one thing Terezi Pyrope hates, it’s saying ‘I don’t know’. “So why’d they call us in? I mean, us in particular. I mean, this is clearly reminiscent of an Alternia killing to  _ me _ , what with the head trauma, but what made the  _ station _ call us first before, you know, a team that isn’t on working a long-term investigation?”

In response, Terezi simply raises her eyebrows and points to your left. You follow her gaze and are immediately hit by another wave of nausea. On the wall is a symbol painted (or smeared) in what seems to be the victim’s blood, an uncomfortably familiar symbol--

:o)

You shiver. “That’s the--”

“The symbol of the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Sherlock,” Terezi interrupts sarcastically. “We know.”

“So what are your thoughts?”

“What do you mean? Evidence pretty much speaks for itself, Karkles.”

You smack yourself in the forehead. “Do you think it was Alternia or a copycat?”

Her blue-green eyes widen. “Oh.” This is why you two are a good pair. “Well, at this point in the investigation it doesn’t really matter. It could be Alternia.”

“Or it could be someone pretending that this was an Alternia murder to distract the cops, like I suggested.”

“Yeah, sure. Either way- whether it’s really Alternia or someone trying to look like they are Alternia- that doesn’t get us any closer to the perpetrator yet. Right now, I think we can do some preliminary shit beyond the normal autopsy slash forensics stuff, like checking for bits of paint or other materials in the skull that might point towards the use of a juggling club to cause the head trauma, et cetera. I can come down and give you guys some more things to look for, if that’d be helpful.” You furrow your brow, confused, but then someone speaks up below you.

“Oh, that’d be great! You could also just email us a list if you’re busy. In the meantime, is it alright if I get this body out of your way?” asks Doctor Megido, the head of the forensics team. She’s kneeling on the ground, gently prodding the protruding brain matter with a gloved finger for reasons you don’t want to understand.

“Go ahead,” Terezi replies. “Oh, and make sure to get a quick blood test. I’m not sure whether the perp would’ve had access to that information, but it’s good data for us to have.”

“Thanks, Aradia,” you add.

Aradia nods, smiles, then motions for some of the other forensics people to come and start preparing the corpse for transport as you try not to watch. “We’ll also get a sample of the blood-like substance on the wall to check that it is, you know,  _ blood,  _ and see whether it belongs to the victim. I’ll get back to you two with the findings on that, and obviously whether we get an identity match, as soon as possible.”

You step away from the gore to examine the scene at large, knowing that Terezi can be one to ignore details in favor of whatever looks most dramatic. The scene itself is pretty grimy, pretty devoid of things you’d consider useful evidence. The pavement is dotted with chewing gum and the occasional cigarette butt. It is not the kind of street you would choose to walk down at night, surrounded by seedy apartments, a deli and what looks like a sex shop, etc. There are a couple trash cans, some with lids, some without, one overturned. You examine the overturned one. It could’ve been knocked over by scavenging raccoons-- but then, why not the others? It also could’ve been knocked over by a person, in a struggle or an ambush or something along those lines. You grab the garbage can and right it; everyone else on the scene ignores your antics. There are no particularly unusual marks or scuffs on the bin itself. Before you turn away, you notice an empty Faygo bottle shoved into the garbage can. “Hey, Pyrope,” you call, mostly hoping that she’ll be willing to be the one to reach into the garbage. “Have a look at this.”

“You better not be wasting my time, Vantas,” she says as she tears herself away from morbidly overseeing the transport of the body and walks towards you. You point to the bottle. “The nectar of shitty clowns,” she muses, plucking it out of the trash. She gets in closer, examining the rest of the contents of the bin. “Aha! There’s a cigarette next to it, too. We’re looking for someone with a smoking problem.”

You squint at the ‘cigarette’. “That’s a half-smoked blunt, Terezi.”

She clears her throat. “So, someone with a drug problem?” For some reason, even though you know you’re wrong, you feel like she’s suggesting Gamzee.

“There’s no reason to assume these two things are related. Believe it or not, garbage bins aren’t actually magical treasure boxes containing evidence and only evidence.”

Terezi huffs and tosses the blunt back into the trash. “Anyways, let’s head back to the station and get to work. I’ve had my fun poking around.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing so much today. Please send help.


	4. Good Cop/Bad Cop (Red Cop, Blue Cop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mayor meddles; Karkat and Terezi question Equius; Karkat helps Gamzee clean his apartment.

“Looks pretty indicative of an Alternia murder,” Terezi muses as she tugs the paper out of her desktop printer before it’s completely done, ignoring your nearly audible cringe. “Altermurder. Alterniurder.” She takes one look at your face and nods reluctantly. “Yeah, that was pretty shit. Anyways,”she continues, reading from the paper, “autopsy did find traces of paint and wood lacquer in the skull, which implies that either the vic was beaten to death with a door, a very nice chair, or a wooden juggling club of the type used in most of the Alternian cult killings. The victim, as yet unidentified, has blood type A positive, the same blood that was on the wall.”

“‘Low’ enough to raise eyebrows but ‘high’ enough to easily have been a lucky shot,” you chime in, and she nods.

“Like I said, good data to have. We’ll want to keep getting this data from future victims and check for a trend. It was rumored that Alternia, back in the day, somehow had access to information on every Medium citizen’s blood type. Seems unlikely to me, but who knows.”

You frown. “You act like you know for a fact that there are going to be more killings.”

“Of course I do. The public setting, the obvious evidence pointing towards juggalos, the symbol in blood on the wall-- it’s clear.” She looks you straight in the eyes, completely serious for once. “This wasn’t a murder, Karkat. It was a message- it signaled the beginning of something. Which means a lot of people are in danger. Especially people like you.”

You fidget. “Okay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me. I’m saying you’re a target. Watch your back.”

* * *

 

That day, Eridan shows up at the station around noon with lunch for you, which would be unusual were it not for the circumstances. He knows this has got to be stressful for you, especially considering you don’t like blood, he explains as he hands you the paper bag containing a donut and some fruit, so he figured he might as well drop by with food. He then grills you for information on exactly how much water you’ve had today and forces you to drink more, reminding you that you’re completely intolerable when you’re having a sickle cell crisis. You grumble a lot and comply. Eridan hangs around the station for another half hour or so, talking to you and sitting with you as you work and exchanging pleasantries the other officers and Terezi (and Aradia, when she comes up from the morgue to tell you more about the autopsy). All in all, his presence is mostly appreciated-- this work can get tedious and depressing, and Eridan serves as a little relief from that.

A couple hours after Eridan leaves, you get a phone call from the mayor’s office. Frantically waving for Terezi to come over to your desk, you pick up and put it on speaker phone. “Detective Inspector Vantas,” you answer.

“Karcrab,” says the mayor with a sigh of relief. You groan internally. “Thank glub you picked up! I couldn’t reach Terezi, I was afraid you two had already done something you’d regret.” 

You shoot Terezi a look. “Oh, hey Feferi. I mean, Mayor Peixes. I mean, whatever. We’ve just been sitting in the office for the past three, four hours. I definitely regret it, but somehow I don’t think that’s what you were referring to.”

She giggles. “Not quite! I was referring to the… incident this morning, and the press who are probably on your heels.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, they aren’t that much of a nuisance. They aren’t supposed to come into the station, you know, and clearly they’re not excited enough to ignore that rule quite yet. Not much information about it has gone public.”

“Good,” she replies with a surprising amount of conviction. “I want you two to keep it that way.”

“What?” asks Terezi incredulously.

Feferi sighs. “Look, this is the kind of incident that spurs mass panic. People getting ridiculously paranoid and jumping to all sorts of ridiculous conclusions about cults and clowns and all that. I think we can agree that that’s the last thing we need.”

Terezi looks at you like ‘ _ Are you hearing what I’m hearing?’ _ . “Feferi, you lived through Alternia yourself, you were--”

“Don’t say that,” Feferi interrupts. “That’s a very hot political term and I will not be associated with it.”

“Okay,” you say, “let’s put it this way: you were there back in the day. You know what it was like, you’ve read the reports. You’ve read, I assume, the report we sent you from this morning. They’re strikingly similar, and you can’t just fucking  _ ignore _ that or tell your  _ citizens _ to ignore it.”

She huffs. “All I’m saying is, when the press interviews you, I want you to keep in mind that there is no evidence linking this to any cults or gangs or anything.”

“No conclusive evidence,” you correct her.

“No evidence,” she says firmly.

* * *

 

There are three more killings over the next two weeks, all bearing the same method and amount of evidence. You are learning disturbingly little, save for the fact that all victims so far have been in the positive blood type range. Feferi calls to check in every few days. On her third call, she reminded you and Terezi that while she is ‘your friend’, she is also the mayor and will fire you both if she believes you are ‘endangering citizens’ by ‘spreading paranoia’.

The good cop/bad cop routine really doesn’t work between you and Terezi, however much you might want it to. Terezi is an incredibly effective ‘bad cop’, and you would be stupid to make her function as anything else. On the other hand, you have the disposition of a sleep-deprived crab being poked with a stick, so you’re a pretty shit choice for a ‘good cop’. Somehow, though, you keep getting relegated the duty, which results in Terezi handling most of the questioning that the pair of you do-- and honestly, you’re okay with that. This includes the day, a couple weeks after the first murder, when you bring in Equius Zahhak. He’s a big, muscular dark-skinned guy wearing a tank-top. He looks nervous, but also like he could beat the crap out of you. He sits down at the nice wooden table behind the two-way glass walls of the polite questioning room, as you call it, according to the directions of the guy at the front desk. You step into the room and introduce yourself as Detective Inspector Karkat Vantas. Zahhak gives you a weird look when he hears your last name. You offer him coffee. He asks for milk. Is he sweating? Terezi is waiting outside the door; you head out to get Zahhak some milk. “What are you hearing?” Terezi demands immediately. 

“He’s fucking ripped,” you reply as you make your way towards the coffee table. “Sweats a lot, though.”

“Mind out of the gutter, Vantas,” she cackles. “You have a boyfriend.”

You wrinkle your nose, checking the labels on the pitchers of milk and creamers. “Ugh, him? No way. I’m just saying he could beat the shit out of both of us combined. He seems pretty easily intimidated, though, I’m not sure. But he did recognize my dad’s last name. Mixed reaction.”

She hums. “Good to know. I’m going in.”

You nod, pouring some whole milk into a paper coffee cup. The door opens and closes behind you.

“Have you heard anything about Alternia recently?” Terezi asks as you slip into the room.

“I have… heard the rumors,” Zahhak responds carefully. You slide the milk across the table to him and move to stand a few feet back, arms crossed, as Terezi stares him down. He picks up the milk, failing to acknowledge you.

“Anything that might connect them to these cases?” She opens her manila folder and slides the public reports of the four recent suspected Alternia killings towards him. He frowns; she scoots her chair in closer, adopting her Intimidating Look.

“Not… well, actually… I have heard rumors that these are the doing of the clowns, or… someone bringing Alternia back,” he says.

“Are you involved with Alternia, the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, and slash or their members?” she asks.

“No,” he replies.

“Are you aware of anyone who is?”

“Perhaps...”

“Can you give us names?” She’s leaning forward, on the edge of her seat.

“Well, I… There are some things… What I say I know is mostly mere suspicion-”

“What do you say you know? Names, Zahhak.”

“I…” He pauses. “There is one. Vriska Serket.”

Terezi raises her eyebrows. “How exactly do you spell that?”

* * *

 

“Thanks for all up and helping a brother get his motherfucking clean on, Kar-bro,” Gamzee drawls as you disgustedly appraise his seedy apartment.

“It smells like pot in here,” you complain.

“Probably because there is motherfucking pot in here.”

“You know I’m a fucking cop, right. I’m the guy who comes in here and arrests you for whatever diverse assortment of drugs you’ve got holed up in this place.”

Gamzee just smiles. “And yet here I motherfucking am, a free man.” He claps you on the shoulder. “Like I said, thanks for motherfucking coming.”

“It’s no trouble, really. Like I told you, I’ve got the day off, Eridan’s up at his dumb shooting range thing, and Terezi would probably lock me up ‘for my own safety’ if she found out I was on my own. Really, I’m doing myself a favor.”

“Righteous. Where do we start?”

“Well, first of all, get any garbage, any food that is not in the refrigerator or pantry, and any illegal items- including, that, that fucking bong on the table, I do not understand you- out. Then we can start dealing with clothes and windows and appliances and…”

* * *

 

A few hours later, you’re helping him clean his bathroom. More specifically, he is cleaning the toilet, while you have assigned yourself the task of going through his medicine cabinet. There are surprisingly few illicit substances in here, to your relief. You pull an odd little mason jar off one of the top shelves and open it. It’s some thick white paste that you don’t recognize. You sniff it. It smells benign. You dip your finger in it; it sticks to your skin like, well, like paint. You smear it in a vertical line on your inner forearm. The paint is cool to the touch and rests a stark white against your dark brown skin. It reminds you, oddly, of the face paint used by the members of the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs. Too much work, you figure. You’ve been studying too many old Alternia documents. 

“Hey man,” you ask, “what’s this?”

Gamzee leans over your shoulder, all beanpole-lanky and unfairly tall, then casually takes the paint jar out of your hands. “Ah, that’s all and nothing, brother. Just some special paint I mixed up a while back.” He sets it atop the cabinet, out of your reach.

You start to reply, but then your phone buzzes. It’s a text from Terezi, bearing an address. Your heart sinks.

1 WOULDNT H4V3 CONT4CT3D YOU BUT

TH1S ON3S D1FF3R3NT

SORRY 4BOUT YOUR FR33 D4Y >:]

“Shit, man, I gotta go,” you stammer, pushing past Gamzee. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.” You pull out your phone to respond to Terezi.

ANYTHING I SHOULD KNOW?

TH3 V1CT1MS N4M3 W4S T4VROS N1TR4M

TH3 R3ST YOULL S33 WH3N YOU G3T H3R3

I’M ON MY WAY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Next time: more Eridan, more murder, Vriska and Tavros, slightly less Gamzee.


	5. I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a hell of a lot of shit goes down.

Today, for the first time, the crime scene is a house. Right off the bat, that tells you that this murder, somehow, was personal. You step in, and are met by the usual diet response team. A couple people point you to the heart of the scene, and you follow their directions until you find Terezi, Aradia, and the body. You take a moment to steel yourself, then approach.

There’s blood everywhere. The sight nauseates you, the scent nauseates you, the idea nauseates you. You take deep breaths. Aradia seems to have arrived only a few minutes before you, as she’s just kneeling down to check out the body. There’s blood on the wall, above the corpse, as usual; you try not to look at it. Not looking at the blood on the wall, though, forces you to look at the blood on the dead person. You weigh the options and figure that the latter is a more productive nausea.

Tavros Nitram is (was) seemingly Latino, around your age, and is now lying on the floor of his living room, sporting what appears to be a bullet hole in the chest. You vaguely wonder why there’s so much blood everywhere if he was shot.

“Nitram,” you mutter. “I recognize the name.”

Terezi scoffs. “No duh, smartass.  _ His _ dad led the movement against Alternia after  _ your _ dad kicked the bucket.” You cringe. “This was a targeted murder. They wanted to kill him, him  _ particularly _ . Blood type AB positive, son of a prominent enemy of Alternia, he was a natural target.” You can hear what she’s carefully not saying:  _ He could have been you. _ And she’s right.

“This looks… recent,” you observe. “Rigor mortis hasn’t quite set in yet.”

“A neighbor reported the sound of a gunshot an hour ago,” Terezi says.

“Hey,” says Aradia from below you with a tone you’ve never heard her use before. “I think you guys should see this.”

You and Terezi look down. Aradia has lifted the victim’s shirt up to reveal the bullet hole- but there isn’t a bullet hole. There’s a gaping wound where the bullet hole would be, like someone just carved him out with a knife. There’s blood  _ everywhere _ , and this explains it. Someone just carved him out with a knife, that’s what happened, sprayed everything everywhere, and it could have been you. 

_ Breathe, Karkat.  _ You’re overreacting. It’s gruesome, but not Halloween-pumpkin gruesome. Okay, it’s a little bit Halloween-pumpkin gruesome, but maybe that’s just you. The hole is a little more than three inches in diameter, messy and uneven and bloody all over and you think you can see bits of organs, maybe.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” you breathe. “Was he shot or not?”

“He was shot. The bullet hole in the shirt makes that very clear. But--” Frowning, Aradia inserts a gloved finger into the wound. It makes a wet squishing/squelching sound.

You retch.

* * *

 

When you’re done gagging into a paper bag Terezi hands you, Aradia gives her professional diagnosis. “The bullet’s gone. No exit wound, no bullet.”

“Someone dug the bullet out of the body,” Terezi deduces. “With a knife, I’d say.”

“So we can’t run ballistics.” Aradia sounds disappointed more than anything.

“That’s exactly the point,” you say (a little weakly). “I mean, it has to be the point. If it was some fucked up sadistic thing they’d have done it before shooting him, or wouldn’t have shot him at all. But this is-- this is smart. You can identify a bullet, you can’t identify a knife wound.”

“This is our first evidence that they’re actively trying not to be caught,” Terezi muses. “I’d say that’s a good sign, but it could go the other way.”

You shrug. “I’d say trying to cover up means they’re worried, and stress means they’re going to slip up sometime.” You sigh. “Hopefully sometime soon.”

Terezi squints down at something, then drops into a squat. “Vantas, have a look at this.” You take a deep breath and sink to her level. She points at a smudge of blood among the plethora of the stuff pooled on the hardwood floor very close to the body. “Patterning and texture indicates a scraping-motion disturbance-” she mimics the motion she’s describing over the spot, as she’s saying the killer would have done it “-that indicates someone collected some of the blood. Probably took more straight from the corpse itself, but we can't observe or prove that.”

You wrestle down another wave of nausea. “This is the first time, right?”

Terezi grimaces, snapping a photo of the smudge with her phone (she doesn’t trust the forensic photographers with anything she deems important). “That we know of. The settings for the previous cases wouldn’t allow us to see this evidence.”

“Shit.”

“Well, I think we should let the forensics team take it from here,” she says.

You frown. “What? Since when do you want to hand off control of the evidence to someone else?”

She gives you a look. “We’ve got a name, Karkat. Vriska Serket. We’ve got a shooting victim with no bullet. We’ve got a targeted killing. We’ve got at least one, probably multiple killers who are clever, cruel, and effective, at least one of whom has a gun, legally or illegally, and would have been able to use it around eleven A.M. on a weekday- specifically,  _ this  _ weekday. Basically, we have a lot of research to do.”

* * *

 

_ Eridan has a gun,  _ you keep thinking.  _ Eridan was out with his gun today. _

This is your problem, this is why you need more days off. You spend so much time thinking about murders and cults and crime, you get paranoid, you start seeing suspects in the people you trust most, the people who could never be guilty. You kind of hate yourself just for thinking it.

* * *

 

That evening, you’re late leaving work, and Eridan is already back from his day shooting things for fun when you get home. You find him draped across the sofa, flipping through TV channels. He perks up when he hears the door close behind you.

“Hey,” he says, a little questioning. You sit down on the sofa with him, stretching (your spine pops loudly). “Where were you? I mean, don’t you have today off? You look like you’ve been working.” He pulls you in close, gently; you kiss him. “You smell kinda like you’ve been working.”

“The fuck does that even mean,” you mutter. He gives you a look. You sigh. “I was taking the day off, but then there was… another killing.”

His eyes widen. “What? I-- fuck. And they made you give up your day off? Couldn’t Terezi have handled it?”

“Look, when someone  _ dies _ , that’s a little more important than my day off.”

He huffs. “Yeah, but there’ve been four already, can’t you just miss one?”

“This one was… it was different, Eridan.”

“What were you guys seeing?”

You look at him. “That was some weird-ass phrasing. Well, it was a shooting, which is new. In the middle of the day, which is new. The perp also… dug the bullet out of the victim with a blade.” You make a face, nausea rising again at the memory, as Eridan watches you sympathetically. “So we don’t have any ballistics information, can’t track the gun. Pretty much a dead end there, almost more than the head trauma shit.” Eridan nods carefully. “And the victim was Tavros Nitram. It was a targeted murder.”

“Who?”

“You don’t recognize the name? That’s… a little weird. His dad was basically like mine.  _ He’s  _ basically like me without the anemia. Which.” Shit, you don’t want to go into this. You don’t want to give Eridan any more reason to worry about you, but you just have to say it. You just have to make it real in the world, in the air between the two of you, so it stop feeling like a paranoid hallucination. “I just keep thinking- that could’ve been me. It could’ve been me.” Fuck. You’re starting to cry.

You’re crying. You’re  _ scared _ . You didn’t realize that until now.

“Fuck, no. No no no,” Eridan says, pulling you into a hug. “No, Kar, that- that- no. It’s not- nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay, you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

“You- you can’t know that for sure. I just-- I’m scared.”

“I do. I do know. Don’t be scared, you don’t gotta be scared, you’re gonna be alright. I know it, okay. I know.”

You give a slightly forced laugh. “Since when did you become an optimist?”

He pauses, pulls away a little, and gently cups your face with both hands. “Since I know you.”

You smile softly. “Jackass.”

“So do you have any leads?” He shifts around to a more comfortable position. 

“Yeah, we actually have a suspect.”

His eyes widen. You really like his eyes, you note vaguely. They’re a pretty blue color, almost lilac or violet. “Who?”

“I told you we brought in that Zahhak guy a few days ago, he gave us the name Vriska Serket. Well, we did research today, and it turns out Nitram was also Serket’s ex. Even more motive. Serket’s got a pretty shady history, plus for some reason she’s got a gun license but owns no registered guns, all in all really suspicious. Terezi is completely convinced it’s her, or at the very least she’s one of the ringleaders.”

“Huh. Makes sense.”

“Yeah. We’ve got grounds to bring her in by force now, which is probably going to come in handy because she doesn’t seem to want to be found. Apparently she’s been hostile and obstructive towards law enforcement and investigators in the past. Our next step is to find her and interrogate her. Terezi’s already gotten to work on it, I’m sure.”

“Good. I hope she goes easy.” You can tell where he’s going with this.

“Me too.”

“You are taking care of yourself, right? I don’t want you getting in too deep.”

“I’m fine.” You pat him fondly. “Besides, Terezi’s the one who does all the exciting shit. When there’s fighting and chasing to be done, you can bet Terezi’s going to do it. I mean, she’s always working and she’s always jumping headfirst into things and I swear one of these days she’ll get herself hurt, but anyways I’ll be safe, so you don’t have to worry.”

* * *

 

The investigation on Vriska Serket continues. Vriska Serket continues to apparently avoid you at every turn. Terezi continues to get frustrated and restless.

* * *

 

It’s a sleepy Saturday, approximately a week and two murders later, and you and Eridan are curled up together on the couch again, watching Netflix. He messes with your hair and you fall asleep against him because you really haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. It’s a good day.

Until your phone rings. You lean over and grab it off the coffee table. The caller is one of your superiors at the station who doubles as Terezi’s mother, Reggie Pyrope, a woman who tends to scare the shit out of you even more than her daughter does. Her voice is tight and careful.

“I just wanted to let you know that Terezi’s in stable condition, she’s been moved into room 413 at the hospital, in case you wanted to know where to find her. She’s very unlikely to be at work on Monday, but we have Serket in custody. Terezi’s going to be fine, of course, although, well.” Her voice breaks, just barely. “The doctors are saying she may never see again.”

You just sit there with your eyes wide and Eridan looking at you expectantly and the line silent, not thinking to demand to know what the fuck is going on until Pyrope hangs up. You slowly set your phone down.

“What--” Eridan begins.

“I need you to drive me to the hospital.”


	6. Saponification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terezi interrogates Vriska; Feferi comes to terms with a few things.

Terezi is laying in a hospital bed when you find her, her eyes covered by cotton pads secured by gauze.

“Terezi?” you begin hesitantly.

She jumps, and you hit yourself in the face mentally. “Who-- Karkat? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She relaxes. “Eridan’s here too. What happened to you?”

“Serket,” she practically growls. You pull up a chair beside her bed, sighing. “I got the warrant yesterday evening, tailed her to her apartment, and she threw fucking drain cleaner in my face.”

“Holy shit.” You can feel Eridan tense behind you, which isn’t a good sign seeing as he was a chemistry major.

“Apparently my eyeballs ‘saponified’,” she says with a shrug.

You turn to Eridan with a questioning look. “They, uh, turned into soap,” he explains uncomfortably.

“Holy _shit,_ ” you say, a little sick to your stomach just thinking about it.

“I mean, that’s actually kinda cool,” Terezi says in the casual tone that never lets you figure out if she’s joking. “Like maybe I could wash my hands with them. I wish the doctors had explained it like that. I probably would have screamed less.”

“Does it… hurt?” you ask slowly.

“Iiii’m on a lot of morphine.” She gives you her trademark scary grin. “Serket’s in custody, right?”

“According to Reggie, yeah.”

“Good.”

You hesitate. “So are you… blind?”

Terezi gives a soft sigh. “I think so. The doctors keep using wishy-washy language, but you know how doctors are. If my eyeballs are soap, I can’t imagine they’ll be much good for seeing with.” She huffs. This hurts her, you know, and you know she will never show you how much it hurts her. “Don’t you fucking _think_ about finding a new partner, though. I’ll be back on my feet and on the case as soon as physically possible, and if I can’t learn Braille in time you’ll just have to read everything to me. Got it?” She pauses for a moment. “I mean, if you’re down. That’s a lot of weight to carry, I know.”

You smile a little, even though you know she can’t see. “Yeah, I’ll be good.”

“Sweet. Now you two should head out, I feel another morphine-induced period of blissful unconsciousness coming on.”

“Alright,” you concede.

“Bye,” says Eridan.

“See you around,” you echo. You realize your mistake as soon as the words leave your lips.

“Well, I won’t be seeing you, but later all the same,” she half-cackles. “Oh, Karkles?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t question Vriska Serket until I’m back in the game. She’s mine.”

* * *

 

Later that day, you make a call-- or rather, convince Eridan to make a call, because he’s been friends with Feferi, like, forever and she picks up his calls with around 95% reliability, whereas for you it’s more of a 50/50 chance.

“Hey, Fef,” says Eridan to his phone. “Yeah, I’m good. Kar wants to talk to you.” He pauses, then throws you a furtive glance, then continues. “Come on, hey. He says I have to sleep on the couch tonight if I can’t get him a conversation with you,” he lies. “Just five minutes. It’s important, I promise.”

He hands you the phone with a little _look-how-influential-I-can-be_ smile. “Hey, Feferi,” you begin.

“Hi Karcrab! You weren’t really going to make Eridan sleep on the couch, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. I hope you’re not too busy.”

“I’m not, I just like messing with Eridan. What’s up? He said this was important.”

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath. “Terezi’s in the hospital. I just wanted to let you know.”

“What?!”

“She was in the process of apprehending a suspected Alternia member-- no, I will fucking use that word because that is the charge-- who decided to splash drain cleaner- uh, sodium hydroxide, Eridan says- in Terezi’s eyes. It blinded her. Like, permanently.”

“Oh my cod.” You die inside a little bit. “Is the suspect in custody?”

“Yes,” you assure her. “Serket is good and locked the hell up. Really, I’m calling to tell you that this is getting out of hand. There have been three killings in the past week- possibly a fourth found this morning. I am _not_ going to keep covering up the fact that it’s linked to Alternia somehow. The citizens  have a right to know. You can fire me if you want, but I’ll still know what I know, and I get the feeling you kind of need me on this one.”

She sighs. “You… do what you want, Karkat. I don’t know anymore.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

A week, two days, and three deaths after that, Terezi Pyrope walks into the station.

“Karkat!” she yells as soon as her shiny new cane taps against the receptionist’s desk. You rush over to meet her.

“Here,” you say when you reach her.

She smiles in your general direction, eyes hidden by her red-tinted glasses, and makes a few empty passes at the air in front of her before hitting you in the chest and then grabbing your arm. “Let’s pretend that never happened. Take me to… my desk.”

You do as she says, carefully guiding her towards her desk. She has really acclimated quickly, and doesn’t trip once. A few coworkers stop to say hello to her and ask how she’s doing. You don’t complain about how tightly she’s holding onto your arm or how much work this is, even though you normally would, because you know Terezi hates the idea of being helpless and you can’t imagine how she must feel right now.

Once she reaches her desk, she sits down carefully and gets right to work. She’s almost completely up to date on everything, of course, because you’ve been visiting her almost every day and telling her what you’re finding (meaning, worryingly little). “I want a coffee, black, one cream no sugar, and Vriska Serket in the interrogation room.”

Half an hour later, as promised, Terezi sips her coffee thoughtfully as Vriska Serket sits manacled to a table on the other side of a two-way mirror. “I want you to stay out here,” Terezi declares. “Keep an eye on things through the mirror, keep note of her body language and facial expressions. I’m going in- alone.” There’s something vengeful in her voice.

“You’re the boss on this one,” you say, and she deftly yet carefully taps her way over to the door. You pull out your notepad.

When Terezi steps into the interrogation room, a smile creeps across Serket’s face. The microphones aren’t on yet, you note. Serket says something as Terezi’s cane taps towards the desk. You can’t hear what Serket is saying, but the gleeful malice written all across her gives you the gist of it. Terezi slowly sits down across from Serket, paying no mind to whatever taunts are being thrown at her, then reaches forward and flips the switch to turn the mics on and start recording.

“State your name for the record,” says Terezi simply.

Serket seems a little bemused, but leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Fuckface McAsswipe,” she snarks.

“Let the record note that the preferred name of suspect Vriska Serket is ‘Fuckface McAsswipe’,” is Terezi’s only response.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“Fuckface, are you in any way involved with Alternia or the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs?”

Serket scoffs. “Like I’m telling you _anything_.”

Terezi nods, perfectly collected. “Let me tell you something, Fuckface.” She calmly takes off her tinted glasses, fold them, and places them on the table in front of her. Then, with a little bit of effort, she lifts her oddly eroded-looking eyelids to stare Serket right in the face with what’s left of her eyes. You look away, a cough catching in your throat. “You did this to me,” Terezi says, pointing to her face. “And I’m sure you see that as a great accomplishment. I’m sure you are very proud of yourself. Maybe you got brought in, but you took me down with you, huh? Something like that. Well, let me explain to you the situation.” She pulls something out of her pocket and holds it up between herself and Vriska. You squint; it’s a coin-- a California state quarter, to be exact. You know this because you’ve seen her use a couple variants of whatever tactic she’s pulling right now, and she always uses that coin. It’s her lucky coin. “All that stuff you’re thinking is one side of the coin. Heads. That’s the positive, the victorious, the immediate. That’s you, winning. Beating me, like you clearly think you’ve done. But let me tell you, Fuckface, a coin has two sides. And you never know which one’s going to fall.”

She flips the coin; it spins in the air, side over side over side, and lands on the table between the two. “Could you please tell me what side is face-up, Fuckface? I’m afraid I can’t see.” Terezi asks sweetly. Serket looks at it and her eyes narrow. Terezi reaches forward and feels the coin. She smiles. “Tails.” God _damn_. She always does that and it always lands on the side she wants it to. You’re pretty sure she has some background as a street magician.

“What are you trying to say here, Detective?” Serket practically spits.

“I’ve _made_ my point, Fuckface. Tails. That’s _not_ you, winning. That’s ‘Earth to Fuckface McAsswipe, you’re chained to a table in an interrogation room and your fate rests in the hands of the cop you threw half a gallon of Drano at’. That’s ‘Your luck has run out’. That’s ‘You may have brought me down with you but one of us here is in handcuffs and one of us is not.’ That’s ‘You better start _fucking_ talking if you ever want to see the light of day again’. Do you understand me?”

Having a blind woman in the interrogation room is a surprisingly good idea, you note. Subconsciously, even though logically she must suspect that you’re standing behind the glass, Serket has loosened her careful control of her facial expressions. Her eyes are a little wide, her pupils slightly dilated if you can see that correctly. She’s intimidated, even though she’s trying not to be. She does not reply.

Suddenly, Terezi slams her hands down on the table and shoots to her feet, leaning towards Serket. “ _Do you understand me?”_

“Yes,” says Serket quickly.

“Good,” replies Terezi, immediately calm again. “One moment, please.” She stands up, grabs her cane, and makes her way back to the door, which she opens just wide enough to lean out and motion for you to bring her the black case on the table nearby. You do this, and she heads back into the interrogation room. Serket watches her carry the case back to the table with apprehension. Terezi sets the case down on the floor by her chair when she sits down, then leans down and opens it. Out of it she pulls a jug of Drano, which she sets on the table beside her. You can see real fear beginning to form in the suspect's eyes. 

“Now that’s all squared away,” says Terezi, casually uncapping the drain cleaner for dramatic effect, “let’s get to it. Do you have any connection to Alternia or the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs?”

Vriska coughs nervously.

* * *

 

“As much as I… hesitate to say it,” Feferi begins, addressing the assembled officials and press, “it cannot be denied that the recent tragedies in our city do appear to be the work of the crime ring known as Alternia and its associated cult.” Cameras flash all around you, and a tiny, horribly insensitive part of you thinks that it would be great to be Terezi right now, just to spare you the headache. “Firstly, I would like to thank our police department and the investigators who have been working tirelessly on this case from the start for their dedication and sacrifice. Secondly, I would like to assure the citizens of Medium that this is not cause for panic. I have immense faith in our criminal justice department and their ability to handle this situation and keep us all safe. The best thing we can all do right now is stay calm and do our best to support the police in their investigation. Thirdly, I would like to implore anyone who might have information that could aid the investigation to come forward. I, for one, will be submitting myself to questioning-- not because I am a suspect- since I’m not a suspect- but because our investigators believe that my situation may have provided me with vital information, and I plan to do whatever I can to help them put an end to this as soon as possible. If we stand strong and work together, we will be able to put this all behind us. Thank you.”

* * *

The next day, you and Terezi stand in Feferi’s bloodstained living room, and you are forced to describe her corpse in detail to your partner.

“It’s another shooting case,” you say slowly, between waves of disbelief and nausea.

“Bullet missing as usual?”

“Yeah, looks like. We’ll have to wait for Aradia to do her squicky finger thing and make sure because I am _not_ going to do that.” Terezi nods. You pause, then let out a quiet sigh. “Everything’s gone to shit.”

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was good!  
> Next time: a lot of erikar.


	7. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Karkat looks to the past as well as the present, and learns more than he ever wanted to know.

Everything really has gone to shit. Tensions are rising everywhere and nowhere feels quite safe and you and Terezi are faced with a startling lack of information. Vriska Serket did not tell you much; all you know is that she was vaguely involved with Alternia, mostly just paying them a little allegiance in return for them covering her ass as she did what she wanted with her black-market trade. She had very few names and only slightly more information.

Feferi probably would have had plenty of details, had you been able to question her before she died.

The more you talk to Terezi, the more things escalate, the more time passes without new leads, the more she brings up the Big Three, the highest of the highbloods back in the old days. There was HIC, now dead, along with her only viable family member. There was GHB, now dead, his son unfit for questioning as previously determined. And then there was Daniel Ampora, life sentence, his son alive and well and asleep with his arms around you at the very moment you’re thinking about this. You aren’t going to question Eridan, of course. He’s naturally uncomfortable thinking about Alternia, he’s been getting worried recently, and as you’ve told Terezi time and time again, you don’t want to push him. But maybe, you think,  _ maybe  _ you could access a similar source of information. Daniel Ampora is alive, after all.

You probably shouldn’t tell Eridan about this, though. You don’t want to give him any more reason for stress.

Slowly, you shift around in the bed, giving your boyfriend a few soft kisses to make him fall back asleep when he starts to stir. Once you’ve mostly disentangled yourself from him, you reach over and lift your laptop off the nightstand. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

 

The record from the prison’s guided (by you) questioning of Daniel Ampora arrives a few days later. You don’t know why you expected anything but irritating reticence from him, but irritating reticence is what you got. He mentioned a couple things you didn’t already know regarding the way Alternia used to work, which you make note of, but when asked whether he is currently involved, he reportedly gave the questioner a patronizing look and gestured at the walls of his cell. You feel like there’s something in this, though. Something that doesn’t quite fit. You skim the pages again. And again. And again. And then you read it through in depth. And then you catch it. It’s just one little sentence, one little phrase. The questioner admitted that you had put them up to this. Daniel had laughed and said:

‘ _ If there’s one thing I’m not afraid of, it’s my son’s anemic boyfriend.’ _

You frown. 

Daniel Ampora was sentenced to life in prison a whole year before you even moved back to Medium, and then it was a few more years before you and Eridan started dating. You didn’t think Eridan had ever visited him in prison. Eridan has never mentioned visiting his father. It would have been a five-hour drive at least; he would have had to lie to you in order to do it without your knowledge.

There’s probably some completely mundane explanation for this. Probably someone else from Medium who vaguely knew you visited Daniel. Someone who knew you well enough to know that you were a Vantas and you were Eridan’s boyfriend and you had been heading the Alternia investigation for nearly a year (both before and after there was really anything to do about it) and who knew Daniel Ampora well enough to visit him in prison. You’re probably being paranoid. Really, you should just put this all to rest and ask Eridan about it when you get home from work.

Instead, you start to write an email asking for the visiting records of Daniel Ampora.

* * *

 

This time, the response comes faster, and with it comes the inmate’s visiting log starting from the beginning of his sentence. Only one person has ever visited him.

**Name: Ampora, Eridan**

**Relation: Son (biological)**

Eridan has visited his father a total of thirteen times over the past six years. Four or five times since you started dating, once since you moved in together. You try to think back to the dates listed, but the memories are unclear. Eridan does have to go out of town every once in awhile, for work. You imagine he disguised these visits as business trips.

Why?

Maybe he thought you’d be uncomfortable with it, what with his father’s background. You can’t blame him for wanting to see his dad. (You wouldn’t have had an issue with it if he’d told you. He didn’t know that, you have to remind yourself. He was probably worried he’d scare you off.) You should really just talk to him about it.

You don’t talk to him about it.

* * *

 

The lack of information on the case, meanwhile, is getting really, really disturbing, especially as bodies continue to pile up. Terezi keeps saying that any hint, anything that even mentioned Alternia, old or new, would be a welcome _sight_ (wink wink, very funny) right now. You agree; you feel like you’re going stir-crazy.

One night (or morning, rather) as you lay awake at 1:58 a.m., you remember that this is Eridan’s house-- this is the house Eridan grew up in. This was Daniel Ampora’s house. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something hidden in these walls that could give you half a clue. You carefully, quietly slide out of bed, out of Eridan’s arms.

You wander through the house, sticking to the top floor for now, using your phone as a flashlight. You don’t find anything in the bathroom. You don’t find anything in the study that used to be Daniel’s bedroom. You don’t find anything in the hallway closet.

You see a little trapdoor in the ceiling of the hallway you’re in. That must lead to the attic. Eridan’s never showed you the attic-- you never asked to see it, you knew it was there but always assumed it was full of old junk and dust and shit. That might be true, but old junk owned by Daniel Ampora could be just what you need right now. 

Very, very carefully, you open the trapdoor. You expected it to creak, but it doesn’t. Seems almost like the hinges have been oiled recently. A ladder slides down automatically when you open the trapdoor, and you start to climb it one-handed, but then put your phone in the pocket of your sweatpants before continuing.

When you reach the top, it is very dark. You can’t see anything, but a sense of foreboding tells you to go back down the ladder right now. You chalk it up to paranoia or fear of the dark and pull out your phone, switching on the flashlight feature.

When you look up, you almost vomit.

There is some dust and old junk, but all that is shoved to one side of the attic, taking up probably only half of the space. Other than that, there are guns.

Guns, a few knives, and blood.

_ No. _

There are eight mason jars on one little table, filled with varying amounts of what you’re pretty fucking sure is human blood.

_ No. _

You walk up to the mason jars as if in a trance. Each one is labelled in Eridan’s neat handwriting.  _ AB- B- A- O- O+ A+ B+ AB+ _

_ No. _

One of Eridan’s shirts is soaking in a tub of water tinted pink.

_ This can’t be real. _

There are a couple juggling clubs in the corner.

_ Not Eridan. _

There’s a slight creak of the floorboards behind you. You turn around, very slowly, your heart pounding. 

Eridan is standing above the trapdoor, staring at you. He’s holding a handgun. He prefers rifles, you think vaguely, when he’s shooting for sport. You wonder if he prefers handguns when he’s shooting people.

You knew this, on some level, all along. You knew it had to be Eridan, Eridan had to be part of it, but you couldn’t let yourself believe it because he’s  _ Eridan _ and he’s  _ yours _ and you  _ know _ that he is good, somewhere. It’s so much easier to think of Alternia as pure evil, not someone who watches shitty TV with you after work and cooks you breakfast some weekends and makes you feel like you’re actually safe.

Eridan’s looking at you almost like you’re the one with the gun, not him. His hand is shaking, thumb on the safety.

He won’t shoot you.

“God, Eridan, what have you done,” you breathe.

“What I had to,” he says. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Is- is any of that your blood.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy, _ you _ , and you almost laugh. “No.”

“Is any of it mine?”

“No, Kar, what the fuck!”

“Okay, okay!” You wrap your arms around yourself. “Look, I don’t fucking know how to-- how to  _ deal  _ with this, okay- this isn’t normal, you know that, right?”

He makes a sound kind of like a scoff and rubs his face. “You don’t understand, Kar--”

“I most certainly do not. Congratulations, Eridan, you’ve got me well and fucking pegged there!” You’re kind of yelling now- and you’ve got a damn right to be, you think. “What are you  _ thinking _ , man?! What the fuck!”

“No, Kar, listen--”

“No! I’m a  _ cop _ , man, I’m not supposed to listen to you! I’m-- I’m a cop,” you repeat more slowly, looking up at him. “You piece of shit. You’ve been using me, getting information-- I’ve been  _ protecting  _ you, you piece of  _ shit! _ I fucking trusted you- has anything you’ve ever said to me meant shit to you?”

He puts down the gun, which you would consider a good step if you were in a more reasonable frame of mind, and steps towards you. “No, look, I- Kar, I swear, I--” He trails off, frustrated, and turns around. He goes and grabs something out of a drawer, then comes back and hands it to you.

It’s a little black box. Inside it is an engagement ring.

You hold it out. “What the fuck is this supposed to do? Do you think this is just going to magically fix everything? Golly fucking gee, you got me a rock!! Isn’t everything just  _ dandy _ ?  _ You fucking killed people, Eridan! _ This is not going to change that for me! What the hell is going on inside your head, man?”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. “Don’t start acting like you know  _ shit _ , Kar, cause you don’t. The only reason you’re alive right now is because you got me keeping the others from bashing your fucking head in, okay? You ain’t got a damn clue of the shit I go through to keep you safe. And I’m not saying-” he gestures widely at the attic “-that I ‘did this all for you’ or some bullshit, I don’t have a fucking hero complex like  _ some _ people I could name, but you’re standing here now, which is saying something.”

“So I’m just supposed to accept that you killed, what, two, three, four, five people, on the flipside that you protected  _ me _ ? Why me? Cause I get you into the station?”

“Cause I love you.”

“So you’re willing to blatantly and aggressively ignore your whatever blood bullshit purely to suit your personal bias?”

He nods slowly, certainly, looking you straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

“What about the people you killed? They had people who cared about them too, I’ve talked to those people!”

He shakes his head almost like there’s a fly buzzing around his ear. “That’s not- I can’t- I can’t lose you, Kar, I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks or- or who other people love, I don’t care. I love you, that’s what matters to me.”

You make another unintelligible sound. After a moment, you practically throw the black box at him. “You’re gonna need that. I want to be able to visit you when you go to prison for fucking ever.”

He catches it like it’s made of glass and looks back up at you, wide-eyed. “You--”

“Buy me dinner first, asshat,” you interrupt, then start to cry.

You feel Eridan cautiously, uncertainly pull you into his arms; you can hear his heartbeat and slow, steady breathing as you cry into his soft pajama shirt. There’s a part of you, a big part, that feels safe now, that’s telling you everything’s going to be okay because Eridan’s here. You return the hug; he says nothing, probably well aware that anything he could say right now would just make you cry more.

He’s a killer. He’s a killer. You aren’t going to ask but you know he killed Feferi at least. There were no break-ins reported at her house. There didn’t need to be. She would have invited him in. 

He probably killed Tavros Nitram. He was out that day, he told you he was at the shooting range so he could take his favorite gun without drawing suspicion because you had the day off and you would have noticed. He waited until you had a day off because he knew how you reacted to blood and gore and he didn’t want you to have to see it and he  _ thought _ you wouldn’t have to see it if you had the day off. 

He probably killed plenty of others. Maybe even all the shooting victims, and maybe he assisted others as well. You don’t know, you don’t want to know, you want to go back to sleep and wake up in the morning and think this was all a bad dream. You want this to be a bad dream. But you know it’s not.

“Tomorrow,” Eridan begins softly, “when you go in to work, what are… what are you gonna say?”

You pause, hiccuping. You could turn him in-- you could turn him in now, tie him to a ceiling beam and call into the station and get a medal, probably. But you know he wouldn’t go to jail forever. He wouldn’t get the leniency granted to his father. He would die (rightly so, says part of you), and his blood would be on your hands. 

Suddenly, you understand why he won’t let Alternia target you, because you can’t lose him either.

“I’m going to call in sick tomorrow,” you murmur. “I need- time. To think.” Eridan nods. “I won’t turn you in.” He relaxes against you.

“I love you.”

“Yeah, you fucking better,” you grumble, pulling away from him to wipe your face. “I- I’m gonna go to back to bed. I need more sleep to deal with this shit.”

“Oh, uh. Okay,” Eridan says, letting go of you. “Do you--”

“You’re coming with me,” you state firmly. Part of you wants to make him sleep on the couch (or better yet, on the street or maybe in a cell), but another part of you thinks that he’ll be less likely to sneak out and do something unthinkable if he’s right next to you (not that that seems to have made much of a difference in the past), and yet another part of you just wants him near. You grab his hand and pull him towards the trapdoor. He puts the little black box back in the drawer and returns his handgun to wherever it belongs, then follows you down the ladder.

* * *

 

The next morning, you sleep in, or rather pretend to. In truth, you wake up when the alarm clock beeps and Eridan shifts, reaching over you to turn it off, but you keep your eyes closed and your breathing steady. You do not move when you feel Eridan get up and hear his footsteps moving out of the room and down the stairs. Later, you watch through your eyelashes as he carefully places a glass of orange juice and your Hydrea pill on the nightstand before leaving for work.

You lay in bed, letting all these ideas and emotions wash over you like waves on the sand, one after another after another.

He has done… unimaginable things. Unimaginable things that you still can’t bring yourself to fully attribute to him. You are trying to come to terms with this, this knowledge, this fear, this side of Eridan that you never once suspected but at the same time you always knew was there. 

There’s a part of you that says you can fix this, fix him. You love him, and he loves you, and some part of you- maybe the part that watches too many romantic comedies- says that’s what really matters, isn’t it, says that can overcome anything. Even this. 

Maybe, just maybe, if you buy him a little bit more time here and there, you can get him to change. You can help him. He’s been indoctrinated into this system of beliefs, and if anyone can snap him out of it, it’s you.

Some part of you says you can save him, says you love him and he loves you and that will be enough in the end, enough to end this. For him, at least. 

You decide to trust that part of you, because the truth is, you can’t lose him. Not to prison, not to the chair, not to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erikar.  
> Thank you for your comments so far!!


	8. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made, attics are investigated, mayors are replaced. A partner in crime comes to light and Eridan takes Karkat to dinner first. Karkat starts to lose it.

That day, after calling in your absence to the station, you go back up to the attic with the forensic kit you mistakenly brought home one time and your laptop. You can’t examine this evidence as thoroughly as you want to without effectively turning Eridan in, so you’ll have to do your best with what you’ve got. Fighting back the usual wave of nausea, you set up a little base in one of the corners near all the old junk and get to work.

First, you dust for prints on the gun Eridan was holding last night. Although you have access to the police database from your laptop, he’s never been charged with any crime, so that’s not much use to you. After pulling on latex gloves, you carefully apply a dark fingerprint powder to the handle of the gun and lift it onto some Scotch tape you grabbed from your desk downstairs, repeating the process on different parts of the gun to produce five clear fingerprints. You then gingerly press another piece of tape onto the first one, sticky side to sticky side to seal off the prints, then climb down the ladder and head back to your desk, where you turn on the printer and scan the fingerprints to your laptop. The print appears on your screen, and you save it to a private file, titled only 311 to protect Eridan in case your computer gets searched, for reference in the future- just in case.

Before returning to the attic, you check the battery on the printer and then lug it up the ladder with you, sighing. Now that you’ve got what you know are Eridan’s prints (since you lifted them from something you know Eridan and only Eridan has recently touched), your attention turns to something a little more mysterious: the juggling clubs in the corner. You lay out a clean cloth, about two square feet, on the floor beside the clubs, then place one club on the cloth. Without any in-depth investigation of the item, you immediately see what looks like flakes of dried blood on the body of the club. Before dealing with the blood, you dust for prints on the handle of the club, and manage to lift at least one pretty clear print off it. You scan this print just like you did with the one on the gun, and find (to your considerable relief) that it does not match any of Eridan’s prints. Just in case, you run it against the police database of prints in case the owner/user of the club has a criminal record.

To your mild surprise, a single result appears on your screen after a couple minutes spent casually listening to the Hamilton soundtrack and trying not to think too much.

**MATCH: RIGHT THUMB**

**MAKARA, GAMZEE**

Your heart drops.

Of course it’s Gamzee. Gamzee and Eridan, all along, the two people you’ve tried so hard to protect.

With that disquieting revelation squared away, you get up, trying to keep moving. That’s what you do- you keep learning, you find out what’s going on without thinking too much about it, you do your job, solve the murder, hope it doesn’t kill you. You make your way back over to the club with a little knife and a few plastic test tubes, and scrape some of the dried blood into the tubes. You then put a few drops of serum in each tube-- anti-A serum, anti-B serum, and anti-Rh serum to hopefully determine blood type and whether it’s positive or negative.

The anti-A and anti-B serum tests come back inconclusive in a way that even you, with your very minimal knowledge of forensic science, know can only mean that multiple people’s blood went into the sample. The anti-Rh test, however, tells you that all the blood in the sample was in the positive range. You pull out a notepad and begin to write this down, also making a note to store this somewhere secure and hopefully easy to destroy, just in case.

* * *

 

You’re sitting on the couch when Eridan comes home; you stand abruptly as soon as you hear the door open. He sees you and hesitates like he doesn’t know what to expect. Before he can say anything, you walk up to him and pull him into a hug.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you too,” he echoes, sounding surprised.

You give him a soft kiss and tug him over to the couch. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things today and to be perfectly honest I’m fucking tired of it, so we’re going to order pizza and watch Music and Lyrics.”

He smiles- a little uncertainly- and lets you curl up beside him, reaching for the TV remote.

* * *

 

Right about when Sophie Fisher confides in Alex the washed-out 80s popstar about her failed relationship with the asshole author Sloan Cates and how he indirectly slandered her in a bestselling novel (also known as right when Music and Lyrics starts getting good), your phone rings. You gently shove Eridan and he picks it up for you as you begrudgingly pause the movie. “Mayor’s office,” he says with surprise.

Your eyes widen and you take the phone from him.

“Hello?” you say.

“Karkat,” says a very familiar voice. “I apologize for the hour, but I have just finished being sworn in.”

“Kanaya?” you ask incredulously. “You’re the interim mayor?” You aren’t sure why a professional clothing designer and part-time government volunteer would be chosen as interim mayor, but you can’t think of anyone better for the job. Kanaya is actually your aunt, even though you’re only a few years different in age, but she’s also one of your closest friends and you know if there’s anyone who won’t crack under the stress of filling Feferi’s vacancy with the current state of things, it’s Kanaya.

“Yes, I am,” she says with a bit of pride.

“That’s… a dangerous job, these days.” You shoot Eridan a sideways glance. He raises his eyebrows at you. The line is patiently silent. “Fuck- I mean, congratulations.”

“Thank you. I would love to speak more, but I have quite a few things to do. Good night, Karkat.”

“Good night, Kanaya.”

* * *

Mayor Kanaya Maryam pays you and Terezi a visit the next day at work, as if keeping shit from Terezi wasn’t hard enough. You and your partner talk Kanaya through the investigation so far, explaining the case of each victim in depth-- or rather, Terezi does, as she’s always more than willing to take control and you’re a little distracted. Eventually, Kanaya thanks the two of you for the work you’re doing to bring Alternia down (how ironic, you think vaguely) and leaves, but not before telling you sternly to take care of yourself.

* * *

 

“I’m, uh, going out,” Eridan says a few nights later.

A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel a little bit sick. “Are you taking your gun?” you ask slowly.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Thank god. You know you couldn’t stop him if you tried- Eridan’s always been stubborn, really. You’re just glad no one’s going to die tonight (or at least, not by his hand). “Okay. Go defend me from the scary scary highbloods, or whatever.” You hesitate; he makes his way to the door. “And tell Gamzee I know,” you say flatly.

There’s a pause. “Ah.” You hear the door open and close.

* * *

 

One morning, as you guide Terezi to lunch, she says “Well shit, congrats. Have you set a date?”

You look at her like she’s crazy, not that she can tell. “What the fuck?”

She makes a face at you. “There’s a new ring on your finger, dunkass. I assume your guy proposed.”

You blink. “Oh, yeah! Uh, thanks.”

“Thanks for not telling me.”

“You kind of beat me to it, Miss Holmes.”

She ignores you, sitting down when she reaches a chair. “When did it happen?”

You follow suit. “Last night. He took me out to dinner and a movie, and then on the way home he stopped us at that fountain I like downtown and popped the question.” You pretended that it was a surprise and you both pretended that everything was perfect.

“Huh. Romantic.” The only part that wasn’t even a little fake was when you said yes. He smiled like you’ve rarely ever seen him smile and you almost cried, honestly, and for a moment it was like you forgot all the shitty things on your mind.

“Yeah, sure.” You flush a little. “We haven’t set a date, to answer your question.”

“But things are going well? You guys are happy?”

“Yeah.” What a lie.

* * *

 

What a fucking lie, indeed. You love Eridan, of course, _of course_ , and it’s not like your feelings towards him are changing, but. You don’t know how to be around him. Naturally. You don’t know how to deal with him. Naturally. You don’t know what to do.

There’s a tension between you, and you don’t like it, but there’s really nothing you can do about it because, well, there honestly should be a tension between you. You think.

You kind of wish you were selfish enough to just be happy with him. It feels like all this would be way more worthwhile if you were happy with him.

The one thing you keep reminding yourself is that you’re on thin ice, and it’s not just you protecting Eridan. As more and more people fall victim to Alternia (to Eridan and Gamzee), you are increasingly aware that you would be very dead if the other members of Alternia, whomever they might be, were allowed to kill you. You’ve started to get a little paranoid about that, really. You’re safe when you’re at work, and you’re safe when you’re with Eridan, and you’re pretty sure you’re safe when you’re with Gamzee, but when you’re at home and Eridan’s out for whatever reason, you’ve started turning off most of the lights and closing the windows and checking the locks on the doors. Sometimes you shut yourself in the attic and continue inspecting and cataloguing all the shit that’s up there just so that you can think about how your boyfriend is a serial killer rather than his serial killer buddies who might be hunting you. Everything is shadowy and silent and part of you thinks you’re starting to lose your mind. When a door does open, you find yourself holding your breath until you hear Eridan call out to you.

You don’t think this escapes his notice, but you don’t think he knows quite how to deal with you either.

On one such occasion, Eridan is heading to work on a Friday that basically everyone you know has been pressuring you to take off (citing stress and pressure and responsibility and all sort of work related words that sort of accentuate the vague feeling that you’re getting a fucking hernia) until you finally caved. “I love you,” he says on his way out the door.

Part of you wants to ignore him. Part of you wants to beg him not to leave you alone here. After half a second’s struggle, you settle for “I love you too,” and then he’s gone.

You check the locks on the front and back doors, then start making your rounds. Slowly, you move from room to room, making sure windows are shut and latched and lowering blinds and drawing curtains closed. Every sound makes you jump. You consider inviting Gamzee over just because it’s better to have a friendly murderous juggalo in your house than an unfriendly one. This is why you work so much; so you don’t have to deal with this.

The last room you check is your bedroom. You shut the bedroom window- Eridan likes to leave it open during these summer nights- and latch it tightly, then draw the curtains. Your mind, caught in this kind of fog of fear and paranoia that has surrounded you recently, grabs at an idea for another line of defense that you can’t believe you didn’t think of before. You turn to the nightstand on your side of the bed and open the little drawer in it. You sift through the papers and coins and miscellaneous shit in it, then pull out your knife. This will be good to have. Just in case.

...God, you really are losing it. All this secrecy and fear is killing you, you can feel it. You wonder if your dad felt like this before he died. Everyone always paints him as brave, as a hero, but you wonder how he painted himself in the moments when the lights were out and the doors were locked and he was very, very alone.

You sit on the edge of your bed, idly rubbing the handle of your knife. You wish he was here to tell you what to do. You wish anyone was here to tell you what to do. You need someone to talk to. Someone you can tell about this who isn’t fucking Alternia.

Your gaze falls on the weapon in your hands. You can’t see it in the darkness, but you can feel beneath your fingers the black spade carved into the knife.

You reach for your phone, and quickly dial what you hope is still the right number. It rings twice, and then there’s the soft click of someone picking up.

“Hey, Jack,” you say.

“Long time no see, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahhahha ignore how long it took me to post this


	9. Father Figures and Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat talks to Jack, Karkat talks to Eridan, and someone gets into Karkat's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously:  
> You reach for your phone, and quickly dial what you hope is still the right number. It rings twice, then there's the soft click of someone picking up.  
> "Hey, Jack," you say.  
> "Long time no see, kid."

It’s like a weight has lifted off your shoulders as soon as you hear that gruff voice on the other end. You’re going to be okay. Jack Noir has gotten you out of situations worse than this.

“Any reason you decided to call, or didja just miss me.” He sounds annoyed, as usual.

“Um. I can’t say much, I can’t afford for there to be any records of this anywhere.”

“Okay, I’m interested now,” he half-jokes.

“Shit’s bad in Medium, Jack,” you say with a completely serious, maybe slightly desperate tone that he doesn’t seem to have heard from you before, judging by the silence on the other end. “Really bad. Have you heard?”

“Don’t think so. America’s got plenty ‘a shit on her plate, you’d hafta have a bomb in there for it to get any real coverage. I only read the paper anyway.”

“Alternia’s back.”

“Back? Nah, kid. Alternia’s good and fucking dead, I wouldn’a let you go back there if I wasn’t damn sure of that. I always said, kid, you got a good head on your shoulders, but shit if you ain’t scared of your own shadow.”

“Jack.” You take a deep breath. “People are dying. Most of the deaths are marked by the cult. My partner got blinded, the mayor got fucking shot after declaring she’d aid our investigation. And- there’s more. I really can’t say this over the phone.” You pause. “And I know for a fact that I’m a target. I’m… on thin ice.”

Silence.

“Jack? Please, for the love of… fucking blackjack or whatever you have instead of a god. Don’t hang up on me. I cannot, I cannot deal with this.”

“I’m here, kid.” Thank god. “Are you safe right now.”

“I don’t know. I’m alone in the house. The lights are out, the doors are locked, the windows are shut. I’ve got your knife.”

“You got the day off or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you’re safe to drive?”

“Probably. Probably, I can do it. Yeah. Should be okay.”

“Good. Meet me outside Medium. I’ll text ya the address.”

You exhale softly. “Thanks.” Pause. “I didn’t know you knew how to text, old man.”

“Funny, kid. You’re gonna make me break a hip from laughing.”

* * *

You leave a note on the table for Eridan saying you’re out meeting a friend, and thank whatever powers may be that Eridan took the bus to work today before you grab the car keys and head out, knife still in your hand.

When you pass by the sign that says  _ Now leaving MEDIUM, CA. _ , you feel a wave of relief wash over you.

* * *

 

The address Jack sent you brought you to, surprise surprise, a bar in the middle of nowhere near-ish to Los Angeles. He’s sitting at a table in the corner when you walk in, a whisky in front of him. You sit down across the table.

“Remember when you were ‘too young’ ta go to bars? That was a pain in the ass,” he muses.

“You mostly just intimidated everyone into letting me in anyways.”

He gives a short laugh. “Yeah, but ya never drank anything. Always said it’d mess up your brain, or whatever.”

“Yeah, cause it would. I was like fourteen, man.”

“Exactly. Some fuckin’ teenager, got the self-restraint to say no to scotch. Some fuckin’ man.” He  _ tsk _ s at you.

“Do you still keep licorice in your hat?”

He waves you off, then fixes you with his one good eye. “How’s shit in Medium?”

You sigh. “Swear to me you’ll never tell anyone what I’m about to say to you.”

“Okay.”

You frown at him. “Swear to me, Jack. I’m not taking any risks with this.”

He looks at you. “When have I ever let you down, kid? You’ve kept however fuckin’ many secrets fer me, I think I can return the favor once in my life. I swear, okay.”

“Okay. You, um, remember that guy I told you about? Eridan?”

“The one you got with? What about him? He break your heart? I’ll break his fuckin--”

“No! No, nothing like that. He, actually, he proposed a while back.” You show Jack your ring. “The thing is, he’s- he’s with Alternia.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He told me.” Jack’s mouth opens a tiny bit. “And, and a thousand other things, it all checks out, it’s just. It’s a fact for me now. And I don’t know what to do. Not to mention he’s literally the only thing keeping the rest of Alternia from hunting me down and killing me in some horrible gruesome way. I just don’t know what to do.”

“How do you feel about him?”

“I love him.”

He nods. “Well, I ain’t the best guy to call fer relationship advice, but I think you got a keeper.”

You give him a look. “Jack, he’s literally a serial killer.”

Jack sighs. “Look, kid. Here’s the thing. Us criminal types, we’re all kindsa fucked up, you know that. You might have some selfless altruistic moral criteria fer your partners, but in my experience if somebody kills other people and protects you, that’s fuckin’ love. And you love him apparently, so I say just enjoy it. Never know when he might go to prison.”

“I guess you’re right.” You hesitate. “Do you think I can… you know, help him? Get him to stop?”

Jack gives you a look that you can’t quite figure out. “I don’t know. Alternia types ain’t quite my niche. I’m a mob kinda guy. I think… I like to think you could, but you gotta give it time. That kinda lifestyle don’t go away in a day. You think you’re safe with him?”

“Yes,” you say definitively.

“Good.” He takes another sip of his whisky. “Well, the part of me that raised you wants to say you ain’t allowed back in Medium if Alternia’s back, but I think you got a fiance to get back to and I probably couldn’t stop you if I tried.”

“Probably not.”

“Alright. Just take care of yerself, kid. Tell that Eridan of yours that yer scared his clown friends are gonna bash your head in.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“It’s a logical fear. And I expect to be invited to the wedding. I’m offended enough no one asked fer my blessing, I’ll damn well stab someone if I don’t get to give you away or however the hell that’s gonna work.”

You laugh. “I hear you. How’s the Crew, by the way?”

He scowls fondly. “Bunch of fuckin’ idiots, as usual. Droog’s the only one with a brain. I think Hearts got himself locked up somewhere, we’re tryin’ ta find him…”

* * *

 

When you return home, leaving a few hours later and arriving around an hour after that, Eridan is waiting for you.

“Who were you visitin’ today?” he asks as he starts boiling water for pasta.

“Oh, I went and talked to Jack,” you say casually.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, Jack.”

“Jack  _ who _ , Kar.”

You blink. Oops. You guess… you never told Eridan about Jack because you were worried he’d react badly to you being associated with criminals. How ironic. “Jack Noir.”

“...Still not ringin’ any bells, I gotta say.” He puts a lid on the pot and turns to face you.

“Jack’s, uh. He’s kind of my dad.”

Eridan looks at you like you just sprouted wings. “Kar, your dad’s--”

“Dead, I know.” You sigh. “You know how I didn’t live in Medium for most of my life, because of the Alternia shit? My dad sent me to live with Jack, god knows why. Jack basically raised me.”

Eridan blinks. “Oh. Why… didn’t you tell me?”

“Jack’s, well, he’s-- he’s a gangster, basically.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Have you heard of the Midnight Crew? That’s his gang. They’re in like… I don’t even know. They move around a lot, for a gang.”

“So let me get this straight- your primary father figure is a gangster, your best friend is Gam, an’ you’re engaged to me?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes.”

He shakes his head a little. “You got a problem, Kar.”

“Yeah, and you got no fucking room to judge,” you retort.

He smiles. “Touché.”

You approach him and slide your arms around his neck. He rests his hands on your hips and leans his head forward, touching his forehead to yours. “I’m scared,” you confess.

His grip on you tightens slightly. “Yeah?”

“I’m scared your fucking clown friends are going to bash my head in,” you say, echoing Jack. “I’m really scared. When you aren’t home I lock all the doors and windows, draw the curtains, turn out the lights. I don’t know what to do.”

Eridan wraps his arms around your waist and sighs. “I’m sorry, Kar.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I swear to god, I won’t let any of ‘em fuckin’ touch you, okay? Promise.”

“I know. I know. But when- when you aren’t around, I’m just. Scared.” You aren’t crying. You’re tired of crying over this. You’ve gotten used to it, you guess, you’ve gotten used to this fear and guilt and sadness. It’s your life now. You don’t cry.

“I’m sorry.”

If you try, you can almost imagine that he’s apologizing for what he’s done. “I know.”

That night, you hold on tight to him, hoping that his closeness can make you safe, hoping that your arms can keep him from going out while you’re asleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, Eridan leaves again. He kisses you before he goes this time, over and over, telling you it’s going to be okay as you nod resolutely and pretend you aren’t nigh-desperately clutching his shirt. Eventually, he’s gone. Again.

You check the locks on the front and back doors. You walk slowly, methodically through the big house, closing windows and drawing curtains. Everything is quiet. 

And then it’s not. As you pass by the stairs, you hear a sound below. The soft, breathy click-creak of the back door opening. Oh god. There’s no way Eridan would be back at this time, and no one else has a key. You immediately forget how to breathe and retreat further into the shadows, listening intently. Muffled footsteps downstairs, moving slowly around the house. The footsteps draw closer to the base of the stairs and you consider running for the bathroom and locking yourself inside. Your entire body is shaking. Would you survive jumping out a window?

A voice calls up the stairs. “Hey, best friend?” Your knees almost give out as you let out the breath you were holding in. You lean back against the wall and take deep breaths. “Karbro?”

“Holy fuck, Gamzee,” you call out finally. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

You can hear the lazy smile in his voice. “I brought you a motherfucking pie, brother.”

That gets you upright. “I’m coming down.” Pretty much the only thing Gamzee is good at is baking pies, and he’s  _ really good _ at baking pies. You head down the stairs. A silhouette you recognize as Gamzee is waiting at the bottom with something that looks seran-wrapped in his hand. “Oh shit, let me-- fuck--” You fumble along the wall for the light switch. When at last you can see, you find yourself a little lost for words. This is, you realize, the first time you’ve seen Gamzee since you figured out his involvement with Alternia. You don’t know what to say.

Luckily, Gamzee has no concept of ‘awkwardness’ or ‘personal space’. He steps forward, putting his pie down on a little decorative table thing, and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You complain loudly and he naturally pays you no mind.

“Here’s your pie,” he says, letting go of you to grab the seran-wrapped pie off the table and hold it out to you. “It’s, uh…”

“It looks like apple?”

“Motherfuck, that’s all what it fuckin is!” he exclaims in awe. “How’d you up and know that? It’s like a brother all motherfuckin’ read my mind.” 

You squint at him. “Dude, I saw the apple slices. Right there, in the pie.”

He nods austerely. “A miracle.”

You sigh and take the pie, shaking your head slightly. “Well, thanks for this."

“Nah, bro. I don’t want no motherfuckin’ thanks for it, I up and made it as thanks to my most miraculous brother-” here he claps you on the shoulder “-for keepin’ a brother all out of prison. Ain’t no motherfuckin’ thanks for thanking thanks to thank or it’s all and motherfucking comes to nothing.”

“I think that was one of the most convoluted and utterly nonsensical statements I’ve ever heard.” You get his hand off your shoulder, then lead him towards the living room. “Why are you here, anyways? Since when do you have a key?”

“Well, a particular brother what happens to know the news with you tells me you’re having some motherfucking trouble being alone and shit, what with all’s going on in Alternia these days, and you’d be alone today, so I thought ‘Motherfuck, I well and oughta pay a brother a visit!’ And here I am, visiting.”

You blink, trying to make sense of that. “Eridan told you?”

He smiles wider. “Right! Gave me the miraculous motherfuckin’ key what’s to get in, too.” Stopping in the kitchen, you put his pie on the counter and search the drawers for one of those triangley knife/serving pie cake slice things, whatever the hell they’re called. Meanwhile, Gamzee opens your freezer and pulls out a tub of ice cream; you don’t complain, as you’re more than accustomed to him stealing your food. “Also mentioned you two are gonna be all up and getting motherfuckin’ married!” he adds suddenly, as if he just remembered (which he probably did).

“Oh, right,” you say. “Actually, about that. Will you be best man?”

He slams the freezer door and looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and amazement. “Me?”

“Of course you. I haven’t talked to Eridan about it yet but I can’t imagine he’d disagree.” The guy smiles bigger than you’ve ever seen, puts the ice cream down, and attacks you with another hug. “I assume that means yes?”

“Fuck yeah, brother,” he replies happily, letting go of you.

“Cool, I’ll tell him tonight.”

“Gotcha.” He shakes his head a little, smiling. “Best man, motherfuck. Never thought we’d end up here, you and me.”

You snort. “Neither did I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments! Please give me more, I am a nightmarish shadow creature who subsists only upon reader reviews and will wither and die if not satiated.  
> If I die, this fic will never be finished.


	10. Never Gonna Make You Cry, Never Gonna Say Goodbye, Never Gonna Tell a Lie and Hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of it being Chapter 10 and a while since I last posted, here's a particularly long and special one.
> 
> In which nothing really happens, but there are a lot of memories.

Your name was Karkat Vantas and you were a rookie detective who was just moving back into his smallish hometown of Medium, California after spending most of his youth in the care of Jack Noir, gangster and part-time guardian. After politely refusing your aunt-slash-friend Kanaya’s generous offer for you to live with her, you were staying in a shitty motel until your transfer application to the local police department could be processed and you could find a place to live. 

You coughed and turned the page of the Medium Gazette, scanning the ad section until your eyes fell on one ad in particular. It said

**Looking for roommate**

**2057 Bay St. Apt 206**

**$515/mo**

**Contact Gamzee Makara (760)420-8742 if interested.**

Gamzee Makara. You recognized that name. You thought maybe you knew him from school, back when you lived here as a kid? Regardless, you pulled out your phone and sent the guy a text. He responded within ten minutes, telling you that you could come and check out the apartment around noon.

It was a fairly nice apartment building, especially considering the price. You took the stairs to the second floor, where you found a beanpole-tall black guy with thick, curly dark hair leaning against the wall beside a door marked 206. You walked up to him.

“Gamzee Makara?” you asked.

He looked up and smiled. “At your motherfuckin’ service! That make you the brother what’s here to look at the place?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Oh, shit, I forgot to even tell you my name. Karkat Vantas.”

His eyebrows drew together a little. “Yo, I think I remember that name. You… huh. Me, I thought all the Vantases were dead,” he muses.

“Uh, yeah.” You fidget a little. “I was sent away as a kid. I left in like fifth grade and haven’t set foot in Medium in years.”

He nodded. “Motherfuck, might remember a Karkat from fifth grade…” He seemed to think about it.

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, the apartment?”

“Oh motherfucker. Right, c’mon in. Welcome to the dark carnival, brother,” he said, opening the door.

It was a perfectly fine apartment, a simple two-bedroom, well-priced. Not exactly your dream home, but you reminded yourself it wasn’t forever. In probably less than a year, you would make enough money to find your own place.

Gamzee told you that you didn’t have to apply for it, he’d give you the spot immediately as a favor to an old friend; a few minutes into the tour, he’d remembered that you were the kid he spent basically all his time with in fifth grade and you’d remembered how much he’d annoyed the shit out of you. As you filled out some paperwork, he said the two of you could also work out house rules and stuff anytime.

Right. You sighed. “Okay, I gotta level with you, man.” 

“What all about?”

“I work as a homicide detective.”

“Fuck, that’s motherfuckin’ badass, bro!”

“Yeah, but it means I’m technically a cop. Which means I’m required to report things like illegal substances or the abuse thereof.” You gave him a look. “Listen, I can pretty much literally smell the drugs on you. And I’m not going to turn you in.” Not that he knew it, but you had plenty of experience balancing a law enforcement job and living with a criminal. “But if this is going to happen, we need to have a rule that whatever you do to fuck up your brain and your body, which you fucking should not do but I know I can’t prevent it, you cannot bring any drugs into the apartment.”

He smiled, relieved. “Sure motherfuckin’ thing, bro.”

* * *

 

You and Gamzee are sitting on the couch watching Chopped when the front door opens.

“Kar?” calls Eridan.

“In here,” you and Gamzee reply simultaneously.

Eridan sticks his head around the corner to the living room as he presumably takes off his shoes. “Oh, hey Gam,” he says. “Didn’t expect you’d still be here.”

“Well, here I motherfuckin’ still am,” Gamzee says amiably.

“Thanks for sending him over,” you tell Eridan.

“Thought it might help you,” Eridan responds casually. “Glad you guys had fun, anyways.”

* * *

 

You carried a box marked PICTURES into what was now your room in apartment 206. As you set it down on your new bed, you heard the apartment door open. Weird. You were pretty sure Gamzee was already in here, and he seemed like the kind of guy to tell you whenever you were leaving.

“Gamzee?” you called uncertainly.

“Uh, no,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“In here,” called Gamzee from his room.

Curiously, you stepped out of your room to get a look at the new guy. He was kind of tall, very white. Pretty cute, you thought. Looked like a hipster, though. Not really your type. “Are you a friend of Gamzee’s?” you asked.

“Yeah, more or less,” he said.  _ Probably buys drugs from Gamzee for fifty bucks an ounce _ , you thought to yourself humorously. “You must be the new roommate? Eridan Ampora,” he said.

You raised your eyebrows a little. “Ampora as in Daniel Ampora?” you asked without thinking.

He winced slightly. “The guy who got sent to prison forever a year ago? Yeah, that’s my dad.”

“Oh. Uh, Karkat Vantas.” You held out your hand.

“Vantas as in the Sufferer?”

“The guy who got publicly murdered like two years ago?” you said, halfway mocking Eridan. “Yeah, that was my dad.”

“Ah.” Eridan did not shake your hand.

* * *

 

Eridan sits down next to you, opposite Gamzee, his legs across your lap. You move your pie to the coffee table so his feet don’t get in it. “Is this Chopped?” he asks.

“No, it’s My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic,” you snark; he shoves you gently before sliding an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, can Gamzee be our best man?”

“Oh?” Eridan looks up at you, a little surprised. “Yeah, sure! Hadn’t given it much thought, but that should be fine.”

“Cool.” You give him a little smile and he returns the favor, then kisses you on the cheek.

* * *

 

You remember when you first saw Eridan smile.

You didn’t have a proper conversation with the guy for the first couple months you knew him, not that you much minded; he seemed like a huge dick. 

One evening, you were watching The Princess Bride from the ratty brown sofa in your apartment. Gamzee wasn’t home; he was probably out getting high or something. Around nine in the evening, there was a single knock at the door. Probably your pizza. 

“Come in,” you called, pausing the movie.

The door opened, and you felt a wave of disappointment. It wasn’t your pizza, just Eridan. “Is Gam here?” he asked, stepping inside.

“No,” you replied simply in a tone that told him he could go now.

He nodded and turned to leave, then noticed the TV screen. “Holy fuck, this is a great movie.”

You completely agreed. Maybe he wasn’t quite such a dick after all. “It’s definitely one of my all-time favorites.”

“Would you- uh, can I stay and watch?”

Your eyes widened a little. “Sure, why not. Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down beside you.

You unpaused the movie. “It’s near the beginning,” you told him. “You came just in time. Wesley just climbed the Cliffs of Insanity.”

“I thought so,” he mused. “‘S actually been a while since I last saw this.”

“So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say to him, ‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die’,” said Inigo Montoya. You mouthed the words.

Eridan smiled. He had a nice smile, you found, a contagious smile. You found your opinion of him shifting considerably, and something in your chest felt kind of warm-- not just because of the movie.

A few hours later when Gamzee came home, he found you crying and Eridan patting your back as the credits rolled, an empty pizza box laying on the floor.

* * *

By the time the episode ends, Eridan has eaten about half of what was left of the pie and you’re viciously admonishing him for not having any dinner first. Gamzee laughs at you and you make a face at him, grabbing the remote to turn the TV off.

“How was work?” you finally ask.

“Hell,” Eridan whines, pouting at you. “It was  _ so  _ boring, I died at least twice.” You flick him in the forehead to tell him he won’t get any sympathy here.

“Hey, bro, do you got a motherfucking watch?” Gamzee asks lazily. It’s unclear who he was talking to, but you hand him your phone so he can check the time. “Shit, I should probably all up and be heading home. Got a pie or so in the oven, can’t let it burn.”

“Oh, okay,” you reply, a little surprised. “You’ve been here for like five hours, though. Do pies take that long?”

Gamzee smiles. “Nah, I put it on a real low heat though.”

“I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not how baking wo-- oh, whatever. Go deal with your pies, I guess.” You sigh. “Do you have your bus card?”

He thinks about that. “No.”

“Well- wait, how the hell did you get here in the first place? No, actually, I don’t even want to know. Do you have money, Eridan?”

“What? Why’s it gotta be my money?”

“Because I don’t have any on me and I’m highly doubtful that Gamzee does so it comes down to you.”

He sighs and hands Gamzee a few bills. “Pay me back.”

You smack Eridan’s shoulder gently. “You don’t have to pay him back. He’s just being an ornery jackass.”

“Love you too,” Eridan says.

“Motherfuck if you two ain’t the best.” Gamzee hugs you both, smiling, then pockets the money and heads for the front door.

“See you around, man,” you call after him. The door closes. Gamzee’s not really one for goodbyes.

* * *

One year, tops, you told yourself. You’d live with Gamzee for at most one year.

“Why do you hang out with Gamzee?” you asked Eridan over the soft hum of the shitty refrigerator when, yet again, he came to your apartment only to find your roommate gone doing something utterly unknown to everyone. “I’d think you guys were dating or he was your dealer or something, but you don’t seem the type to date Gamzee or buy drugs.”

Eridan gave half a laugh. “No, not really.” He looked down into the mug of coffee you’d handed him and sighed softly. “Has he told you about his dad?”

“No.” You frowned. “I thought he didn’t really have any family.”

“He doesn’t, anymore,” Eridan explained unhelpfully. You gave him a look. “His dad was GHB,” he continued, and your eyes widened. “I’ve been hangin’ around to make sure Gam doesn’t go too far off the deep end after all that happened. Fef- uh, Mayor Peixes- ain’t too big on thinkin’ about the past, an’ since she and I are the only ones who kinda get what he’s goin’ through, it came down to me to keep an eye on Gam, talk him through shit if he needs it. Won’t let me get him a therapist, the fucker.”

“That’s… nice of you.” You can imagine why Gamzee would need Eridan around; GHB was issued the death penalty for a remarkable assortment of major felonies less than a year before you moved in with Gamzee. “I don’t envy you, taking care of him.”

“Yeah, it’s a fucking full-time job,” he complained. “Been easier since you moved in, though.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Definitely. Gam’s been a lot happier with you around. Figure he needed company, an’ you been really good to him. I’d say you take care a him almost more than me now, which I don’ mind at all.”

So one year turned into five. You made plenty of money to find your own place, but the guy needed you. Eventually, you took over Eridan’s duty of watching over Gamzee. You stayed with him through the three-month ordeal of his LSD scare and his two separate near-fatal heroin overdoses, sitting beside him as he lay on the sofa and calmly steadying his quivering hands. On a number of occasions, you footed his share of the monthly rent. In return, he baked you a pie every Friday evening and sat with you while you cried over romantic comedies or particularly tragic cases from work.

You grew closer to Eridan, too. He stopped coming around to see Gamzee and started coming around to see you. The two of you watched movies and traded gossip and occasionally went out for coffee or a drink together. You complained together about life and work and other people’s affairs and your own failed past relationships- especially Eridan’s. Eridan happened to have a string of exes, some of whom he had broken up with for not living up to his standards and others who had broken up with him for being too clingy, high-maintenance, generally a dick, or all of the above. He explained to you that he wasn’t really any of those things, simply deeply misunderstood and requiring a certain, adequate level of devotion. You told him he was definitely all of those things. Three years into your friendship, he asked if you would try dating him anyways. You spilled coffee all over yourself and almost passed out.

Gamzee was naturally overjoyed to find out that his two best friends had hooked up, and often asked if you needed a condom when informed that Eridan would be coming over (which typically caused you to blush furiously and throw a pencil at him, cursing). 

Two years into your relationship with Eridan, he asked you to move in with him. Actually, he asked you three times. The first two times he asked, you told him he must be on almost as many drugs as Gamzee if he thought it was a good idea to leave the guy alone. Then, one night, you came home from work to find Gamzee waiting for you. He hugged you as soon as you stepped through the door, then handed you an eviction notice signed by him. Under reasons for eviction, it simply read  _ Come live with me _ in Eridan’s handwriting. 

“Don’t you fuckers know only the landlord can evict me,” you sighed, and then started crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Terezi, detective things, and possibly Nepeta.


	11. If They Test Me, They Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old Karkat/Terezi duo is interrupted by a new face with a lot of questions and even more opinions. Karkat is concerned for Eridan. Fun is had at the station.

The next Monday, there’s yet another murder. This one is called in during your normal work hours, which means you and Terezi get to ride the fancy cop cars down to the scene, which is another back alley, another head trauma victim. You look down at the body, rigor mortis just setting in, and wonder if Gamzee stood over it just like this a few hours ago. Terezi actually sniffs the body before the paramedics take it, which is gross as fuck and you tell her so, but you find little to no evidence whatsoever at the scene. After you describe what you see to Terezi, she tells Aradia to look for traces of fibers or anything in the blood on the wall. You hope they don’t find anything. There’s an uncomfortable feeling that follows you everywhere, especially in places like this, a sort of guilt, a sort of pain, a sort of forced denial.

After investigating the scene, you and Terezi go out for lunch. The two of you talk a little about the case, a little about Terezi’s recovery from her Draino incident, a little about plans for your wedding. You talked to Eridan about it over the weekend and made a few decisions, including a tentative date in early/mid October, just a little over a month from now. It’s rushed, but again, you never know when one or both of you will get thrown in fucking prison. You don’t mention that part to Terezi, of course; you tell her that you’re just eager to get it over with and you know that if you give yourself more time you’ll just spend more time stressing over it. You’ve gotten really good at lying to people you care about, and it makes you a little sick.

* * *

 

When you and Terezi get back to the station, you head for your office, only to find it already occupied. Someone is sitting at your desk, in your chair, flipping casually through one of your many notepads. This someone has short, dark hair, and is wearing what appears to be a soft blue beanie. They are so engrossed in your notes that they don’t notice you entering the office, Terezi on your arm.

“Who the fuck are you and what the everloving godforsaken autoerotic  _ fuck _ are you doing here,” you say. The stranger spins around to face you.

Terezi looks a little confused. “Think of your blood pressure, Karkles. Is there someone in here?”

“Yes,” says the stranger amiably, standing up. She appears to be a fairly small young woman, and her hat has a white cat face on it. She extends her hand, smiling. “Nepeta Leijon, investigative journalist for the Medium Gazette. I’m here about the Alternia case.”

“No shit you fucking are,” you grumble, ignoring her hand. “Press aren’t allowed in the station. Get out.”

Terezi nods. “Exactly what he said. We can only disclose information to the press during approved press conferences, press releases, and interviews.” 

Leijon’s smile grows wider. “Oh, but you see, I am approved. I have a note from the mayor right here!” Dear god, what has Kanaya done now. Leijon quickly digs around in her khaki green messenger bag before pulling out a blue folder from which she produces, as promised, a note printed on official letterhead. In the note, Kanaya explains that she is officially making Ms. Leijon something of an embedded reporter in the Alternia case, as a demonstration of good faith to the press and public and in the hopes of helping to calm down the gradually rising hysteria around Alternia. Kanaya vouches for Leijon’s discretion regarding classified information or information that would be unwise to release, as well as her positive take on most stories. Kanaya also tells you, Karkat, that she is the mayor and your aunt and you have to do this even if you don’t want to because she says so. The letter is signed and sealed. You read the note aloud for Terezi, then sigh heavily and pocket it.

“Welcome to the team, I guess,” you say to Leijon. “What’s your name, again? I had more important things on my mind when I came in here.”

“Nepeta,” she repeats, still smiling.

“Alright, Nepeta,” you echo.

“I’m Detective Inspector Terezi Pyrope, and this is my partner, Detective Inspector Karkat Vantas,” Terezi introduces herself, holding out her hand. 

Nepeta shakes it energetically. “Yes, I know all about you! Never let it be said that Nepeta Leijon doesn’t do her research. I have a few questions for the two of you, actually!”

“Get out of my chair and you can hit me with them,” you reply. Terezi cackles and sits down at her desk.

“Oh, of course,” Nepeta exclaims, getting up and handing you your notepad. “I’m a little excited, honestly, because this is my first big story- I mean, I’ve had a few before, but no really important jobs like this! I’ve always wanted to look into criminal justice, and this is just such an important story! You two are doing really great work, and I’m here so that hopefully you’ll get credit for it!”

“That does sound nice,” Terezi jokes. You sit down. “Are we talking parades, rose petals, that sort of thing?”

Nepeta laughs. “Not quite! But it’ll be very exciting, I promise!”

“I don’t doubt it,” you mutter under your breath.

“So what kind of questions do you have?” Terezi asks.

“Well…” She pulls out a notepad of her own and thumbs through it. “Karkitty- is it okay if I call you Karkitty? Karkitty, is it true that you’re engaged to the son of noted Alternia ringleader Daniel Ampora? Could there be a conflict of interest here?”

“What? How the fuck did you find that out? That’s personal!”

“No!” She smacks you on the back of the head with her notepad. “That’s not how you respond! I have my sources, and so do other repurrters! You’re going to get this question, Karkitty, and you better be prepared! By reacting like that, you just confirmed it and made it look to me like you’ve got something to  _ hide _ there.” She gives you a soul-searching look that makes you want to cower. “What you say is, listen to me, Daniel Ampora was not a ringleader of Alternia, simply a man who happened to have the right blood type in the right era. Having a relationship with his son Eridan is in no way beyond your right as an officer, it is your choice to make, and the press has no business meddling in your personal affairs! That’s just _my_ job,” she adds with a little giggle.

“What? You-- okay. Okay? Fuck.” You shake your head a little, dazed.

She smiles at you, hopping up to sit on your desk. “In order to make sure I have the best story, I need to keep you two safe from the hungry jaws of the press. I think over the next few weeks you’ll be glad for it!”

“So you’re like a reporter and a PR agent at the same time,” Terezi chimes in, impressed.

“Exactly! Now, let’s get to work. Tell me about Alternia!”

* * *

 

Once again, you work late that day, and Eridan’s on the couch when you get home. He looks up when he hears you come in.   “Hey, Kar.”

You pull off your shoes and climb directly into his lap, sighing. “Hey.”

“Tough day at work?”

“You have no fucking clue.” That reminds you. You look up at him. “Kanaya embedded us a reporter.”

His eyebrows raise. “What?”

“Her name’s Nepeta Leijon and her job is to follow me and Terezi, dig around, help us out, report on what she sees. She’s with the Gazette, I think.”

“She bad news?”

“For you, yeah. She’s… eccentric, I guess, and energetic as hell, but she knows her shit and she means business. She’s watching me, me and Terezi, and she’s not going to fucking blink. On the other hand, she’s coaching me on dealing with the press, so that’ll be a little helpful.”

Eridan blinks like he’s trying to process all this. “So…” He pauses. “Should I, you know-”

“Fuck no,” you say definitively. “Hell fucking no, Eridan Ampora, first of all there’s no way I’m going to condone you  _ taking care _ of anyone and I’ll punch you in the face if you try anything, and secondly if anything happens to Nepeta Leijon all kinds of heads will be turned towards me. No.”

He sighs a little. "Okay, okay. Just be careful around her, then."

"I'm always careful, dickweed."

"Let me know if she gives you trouble."

"I will."

"Be careful."

"For god's sake, Eridan."

He huffs and wraps his arms around you, pouting.

* * *

 

_ “She got a body like an hourglass _

_ But I can give it to you all the time _

_ She got a booty like a Cadillac _

_ But I can send you into overdrive ohh _

_ (You’ve been waiting for that uhh _

_ Step on up, swing your bat ohh) _

_ See anybody could be bad to you _

_ You need a good girl to blow your mind _

_ Bang bang into the room (I know you want it) _

_ Bang bang all over you (I’ll let you have it) _

_ Wait a minute let me take you there _

_ Wait a minute let me ohh--” _

“For fuck’s sake, Terezi, you’re harmonizing like a pubescent dolphin. It’s like you aren’t trying at all,” you complain over the music.

“It’s not my fault you have a gravelly man voice,” she retorts. “I doubt  _ anyone _ can harmonize with that. Except maybe Beyonce, but she can do anything.”

“Well, I need you to fucking be Beyonce, okay? Harmonizing means fucking major chords, not whatever Frankenstein’s Monster shit we have here. And I don’t have a gravelly voice,  _ you  _ have a gravelly voice.”

“Is this really what you guys do all day?” Nepeta asks.

“It’s not like there’s much else we could be doing at the moment,” Terezi says, kicking back and resting her heels on your desk. “We’re held up by forensics, waiting on the autopsy results from the recent attack. We’ve been over the existing files a thousand times and we deserve to fuck around every once in a while.”

“Yeah, what she said. I’m diligent as fuck. Do you see me playing fucking Candy Crush on my phone while I draw a chalk outline around a corpse? Making rubber band balls while interviewing tearful widows or potential criminals? No, you don’t. I’ve more than earned the right to obnoxiously sing along to Bang Bang by Jessie J, Ariana Grande, and Nicki Minaj with my partner during work hours.”

Nepeta giggles. “I see your point, Karkitty. Somehow I don’t think that’s what the taxpayers have in mind when they’re paying for police detectives, though.”

“Ugh, fuck the taxpayers. You know who pays taxes? Me. I pay part of my own damn salary-- which, by the way, is low as shit,” you say.

“Yeah, if it weren’t for the benefits I’d work at a strip club for better pay,” Terezi adds.

You scoff. “The reason you don’t work at a strip club, Terezi, is that you’d scare off all the customers.”

“ _ B to the A to the N to the G to the, uhh, _ ” she sings along to the music, ignoring you.

“ _ B to the A to the N to the G to the, heyy- _ ” You join her.

“ _ See anybody could be good to you, you need a bad girl to blow your mind! _ ” Nepeta joins at last, the addition of her voice somehow making you actually sound kind of good, which is highly unusual where you and Terezi are involved.

_ “Bang bang into the room (I know you want it) _

_ Bang bang all over you (I’ll let you have it) _

_ Wait a minute let me take you there _

_ Wait a minute let me ohh _

_ Bang bang there goes your heart (I know you want it) _

_ Back back seat of my car (I’ll let you have it) _

_ Wait a minute let me take you there _

_ Wait a minute let me ohh” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are fuel for the words that I make out of my ideas. Thank you for them, and please give more.  
> I highly suggest you listen to Bang Bang by Jessie J, Ariana Grande, and Nicki Minaj, and consider a configuration something along the lines of Karkat singing Jessie J's part, Nepeta as Ariana Grande, and Terezi as Nicki.  
> Next time: possibly some federal intervention in the Alternia situation.


	12. Doctor Vantas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little bit of shit hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes at the end of the chapter are pretty important, just so you know.

“I’ve got it narrowed down to two,” you tell Eridan. “Los Willows and the Hotel Laguna.”

He tears his attention away from the news to look up at you. “What about Disneyland?”

“I honestly can’t tell whether you’re serious about wanting to get married at fucking Disneyland.”

“Hey, the Disneyland wedding packages are cool.” Eridan sounds almost indignant. “Look.” He reaches around you to get to your keyboard and goes to the Disney weddings website. “We can have movie characters come to the reception an’ everything.”

“I can’t believe I’m marrying an actual nine-year-old. Wait, I think that’s illegal, so wedding’s off, sorry.”

“Kar, come on,” he whines. “Just look at the pictures.”

You sigh and look at the pictures. “Okay, the Rose Garden and Brisa Courtyard look acceptable, but I can’t deal with toddlers running around and screaming and breaking their faces everywhere while I try to remember my vows.”

“They would keep all the public out, Kar. Plus, Disney is romantic as fuck.”

“I just.” You huff. “I want someplace more private, more sincere-feeling. Disneyland is all smoke and mirrors and fucking glittery pink cardboard, and I don’t want that for our relationship.”

“You want someplace more romantic.” He looks a little amused and a little disappointed.

“Yeah, a place with a target demographic other than ages three to thirteen, that doesn’t include people dressing up as fake animated characters from sexist 1970’s cartoons. And maybe more scenery and authenticity and shit, and uh, lilies and rose buds on the tables with white trellises all around, or something.”

Eridan laughs at you and pulls you closer. “Okay, so not Disneyland. What were your two?”

“Los Willows and Hotel Laguna.”

“Los Willows is the one with the vintage Rolls Royce that you can ride to the altar, right?”

“For god’s sake, Ampora.”

“It’s a no on the Rolls Royce?”

“It’s a huge, glaring fuck no.” You turn back to your laptop screen and open the venue’s website. “It’s a really nice place, though. There’s a lakeside garden gazebo that I’m definitely fond of, and there’s a tent pavilion with a chandelier and everything. They also work with you on all the planning and shit, which is nice.”

“What about the lagoon hotel?”

“Hotel Laguna. They’ve got a rose garden, but you can also have the ceremony on their beach, right next to the water. It’s not as private or like, customizable as Los Willows, but the beach seems like your kind of thing and they’ve apparently got a good ballroom.”

“I still want Disneyland.”

“I know you do, but it’s not going to happen. Not to mention I already checked and they’re booked until January.”

He sighs. “Okay.” You kiss him on the cheek. “The other ones sound good, though,” he continues. “I’m not sure which one I like better.”

“You aren’t very helpful,” you complain fondly. “We’ve got a little bit of time left to decide, luckily, so sleep on it and let me know if you develop an opinion one way or the other.”

* * *

 

You are awoken late that night by a crashing sound downstairs, and you immediately notice that Eridan isn’t with you. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that follows is deeply familiar to you by now as you slide out of bed and carefully make your way downstairs, through the shadows and muted slashes of light pollution that find their way between the blinds. Beneath your feet, the stairs creak softly, and you try to pull yourself out of the haze of sleep. 

When you peer around the corner into the kitchen, you can see little more than dark shapes and slight glimmers. The sink is turned on, you can hear that. Acutely aware of the sensation of your heartbeat, you fumble for the switch on the wall and flick on the light.

Eridan stands over the sink, his back towards you, positioned almost as if he’s holding up most of his body weight with his arm pressed down on the counter. When the light comes on, he turns his head towards you. “Fuck- Kar,” he breathes, grimacing. Around him, a few pots and plates and various things have fallen to the floor, as if he fell down and flailed, trying to grab onto something. 

You approach him. “Eridan, what the fuck? Are you oka--oh my god.” As you get closer, you notice that most of his shirt is stained a wet, dark red. “Oh my god, Eridan, is that your blood, oh fuck. Fuck, what did you do,” you stammer, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Shit, I got-- ah.” He winces, then tries to keep explaining, but mostly ends up mumbling unintelligibly. 

Making him talk probably wasn’t the best idea. Breathe, Karkat. You have basic medical training, you can deal with this. “Oh, oh, fuck, come on.” There’s a chainsaw sticking out of the sink for some reason, you notice, but that’s not important right now. You pull one of his arms up around your shoulders and hook one of your arms under his other armpit, then help him stumble over to the table, where you lay him down on his back and assess the damage. There’s a huge, ugly gash across his torso that makes you want to be sick, but you force the bile down and try to gently strip off his shirt. Gently stripping off his shirt ends up making him cry out in pain, so you try to say something comforting and grab the kitchen scissors to cut the shirt off.

Once his shirt is off, you go over to the sink and dampen two washcloths as you notice vaguely that you’re crying from some kind of fear or stress, then use the washcloths to get most of the blood off of him so that you can see the wound. “It’s not that deep,” you say, trying to sound calm. It’s a little deep. “It’s pretty shallow, it didn’t hit anything important, it’s gonna be okay. I love you.”

“I love- fuck, love you,” he echoes.

You make a beeline for the first aid kit in the bathroom and bring it back to him, fumbling with the latch and then sifting through it with shaking hands. You find a sterile needle and thread, then pull out some rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

“This is going to hurt,” you warn him.

He nods and screws his eyes shut.

* * *

 

About half an hour later, both of you are crying as you step back and check your work. The stitches are neat, which even in your mildly hysteric state you consider pretty impressive seeing as your hands were shaking like you were trying to play vibrato on a violin the whole time. Eridan just lays on the table before you, breathing heavily.

“Do you want some Advil?” you ask after a moment, then both of you burst into laughter. You laugh out of sheer relief, laugh at the hilarity of you offering him over-the-counter ibuprofen after all that, laugh at all the stress that’s still balled up inside you. He looks like the laughing hurts, though, so you do head for the medicine cabinet.

You shake five salmon-colored pills out onto the palm of Eridan’s hand. Technically, that’s more than he should have, but technically he should probably be on a morphine drip right now so you figure it’s okay. You put a glass of water in his other hand and carefully help him sit up, a process interrupted only by  _ fuck _ s and  _ it’s okay _ s. Once his head is vertical, he downs all five Advil at once. He then winces as you wrap some gauze around his torso for good measure.

You sit down beside him on the table and gently rub his back while he leans against you. 

You do not ask what happened to him; you’re long past trying to figure out where Eridan’s been. The fact that he didn’t tell you he was leaving means it’ll only hurt you to know, and you’ve dealt with enough shit tonight already.

* * *

 

Another half hour passes, and you ask him if he thinks he’s ready to go upstairs. He nods, and you slide off the table. After a moment’s hesitation, he follows suit, holding on tight to your arm.

You help him move slowly across the kitchen and even slower up the stairs, supporting easily half of his weight. When the two of you reach your room, you get him into bed, then settle in beside him and try to sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, you slam the alarm clock and then open your eyes to find Eridan asleep a few inches away. The events of last night come flooding back to you. You sit up slightly and decide to attempt to wake your fiance.

“Eridan.” No response. “Eridan.” Still nothing. “ _ Eridan. _ ” He emits a soft groan. “Are you awake?”

“Mmmh.” His eyes open slowly, and he blinks at you a few times.

You run your fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Need more fuckin’ Advil,” he complains.

“I’ll get you some. Do you want me to call your work and tell them you won’t be coming in today? Because you won’t be going in today.”

“Yeah.” He sighs and sits up. “Thanks, Kar.”

You get out of bed and start getting dressed. “So you’re feeling better?”

“A little. Feels like I can walk around an’ do shit.”

“That’s good. You should still try not to exert yourself too much, I don’t want you busting your stitches.”

“Yes, Doctor Vantas,” he says; you make a face at him. “Make sure you take your medicine, too.”

“I will.”

You bring him his Advil, but forget about your Hydrea until you’re halfway to work and it’s too late to turn back. 

* * *

A few hours, you’re sitting in your office with a thick case file open in your lap, tossing a balled-up paper back and forth with Nepeta as you, Nepeta, and Terezi discuss Alternia. Your right leg is a little sore for some reason, so you shift your weight onto your left. Terezi is trying to balance a pen on the tip of her nose.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Terezi’s pen clatters to the floor as she reaches for the receiver.

“Detective Pyrope,” she says. “...I understand. We’re on our way.” She hangs up.

“What was-” Nepeta begins.

“There’s been another attack,” you surmise, standing up.

“Yep,” Terezi confirms. “At, uh, 81st and Virginia.”

The address seems familiar to you. Your eyebrows draw closer together as you pack up your notes and shit. A moment later, you jerk upright, eyes wide. “Shit. That’s--”

“Isn’t that the mayor’s address?” Nepeta asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about Eridan and Karkat's wedding? So am I! Wishing you could influence Fix You? Now's your chance.  
> Los Willows and Hotel Laguna are two real-life wedding venues in Southern California. If you want, you can help me choose between them for the purposes of this story by either commenting your suggestion here OR liking/reblogging the corresponding Tumblr post:  
> http://eridans-secret-account.tumblr.com/post/149676760035/hotel-laguna-seaside-resort-like-or-reblog-this  
> http://eridans-secret-account.tumblr.com/post/149676759526/los-willows-private-wedding-estate-like-or-reblog  
> More information and pictures can be found on the Tumblr posts.  
> Also, if you have music that you think they would play at their reception, feel free to send me your recommendations.  
> You can track and comment on the wedding plans via the tag "#fix your wedding" on Tumblr.


	13. Sic Infit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder, investigated; a hospital, visited. A fight occurs and a crisis is poorly dealt with.

You spend the whole ride to Kanaya’s house on the verge of tears. You’re stressed and afraid and your leg still hurts and you want so badly to deny this, to deny that Kanaya, the strongest person you’ve ever met and one of your closest friends, could have been targeted. You feel nauseous.

Kanaya is-  _ was _ \- your only living relative. You don’t want to believe that Alternia claimed yet another one.

When you arrive at Kanaya’s house, Nepeta seems to notice that you’re completely unstable because she takes over the duty of being Terezi’s seeing-eye friend. A police officer meets you in front of your aunt’s house and leads you around to the back.

Kanaya’s garden is, as always, beautifully and perfectly manicured. This garden was basically her life’s work, considering she worked as a landscaper and still spent nearly all her free time trimming her own hedges. The bushes are shaped and curved into intricate designs, and flowering plants surround the hedge sculptures in delicate patterns. In the middle of all this is Kanaya, or what used to be Kanaya, you guess. As you approach the center of the scene, you think about the last time you spoke to her. 

You went out for coffee with her and talked about your wedding plans. She was going to design your outfit.

Now, she lies on her back in the middle of her garden, arms splayed out. Your entire being is going into shock, but your detective’s mind speeds along without you, making observations. There’s blood everywhere. There’s no bullet hole in her shirt, though; rather, a tear about the size of a medium-sized knife. It looks like she was stabbed just beneath the sternum. There’s a hole dug in the side of the trunk of a hedge a few yards away.

Around her, you notice the signs of a struggle; scuffs and disturbances in the topsoil she typically would never step on. You can see the scene playing out in your head: Eridan, hiding a few steps behind where you stand now, tried to shoot her while her back was turned. For some reason, she moved suddenly and he missed, alerting her to his presence. She turned and came after him with her chainsaw. He was forced to engage her in short-range combat, a knife against a chainsaw, immensely overwhelmed. She made a swipe at his torso and he tried to move away but she managed to graze him. Likely, he threw the knife into her, then removed it, dug his bullet out of the hedge, took her chainsaw so the police couldn’t get a sample of his blood, and left. He left, and he went home, and then you helped him.

He killed Kanaya, and then you took care of him.

You lower yourself to your knees and start to cry in earnest. You can hear Terezi tell Nepeta to give you space.

You can’t believe this is real. You  _ don’t  _ believe this is real. You reach out and find her wrist, searching for a pulse. There’s nothing, obviously. You press your thumb in harder, desperate.

And then you feel it.

Beneath your thumb, so faintly you almost think it’s just your own pulse, you feel a single beat.

* * *

 

The next few minutes are a flurry of motion and noise. The ambulance arrives, sirens wailing at full force, and paramedics come scurrying out. They determine that Kanaya is alive, however barely, and transfer her to a stretcher before whisking her away in their ambulance. You are whisked away as well; as her blood relative, you have a right to stay with her, and you readily invoke it. 

Your leg still hurts, and your brain feels fuzzy. You’re stressed and shocked but there’s no time for rest now.

An hour and a half later, a doctor comes out of the surgery room to tell you they’re almost done on Kanaya. She says Kanaya’s in a coma at the moment, but will hopefully make a full recovery. You thank her and immediately call your partner.

“That’s great!” says Terezi. “Hopefully she can tell us who attacked her, even.”

…

Fuck.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly. “Hopefully. Listen, I’m… really tired, I think I’m going to go home for a little while. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Gotcha. Take your time.” There’s the click of Terezi hanging up.

* * *

 

You almost cause at least five car accidents on the way home. You were so worried about Kanaya making it that you didn’t realize she was a witness. God, you’re such an idiot. Your leg is starting to hurt more and really get on your nerves, too, but you tell yourself not to pay attention to it.

By the time you get home, you’re furious- at probably five hundred different things for five hundred different reasons, but it all really centers around you and Eridan.

When you storm into the house, you find Eridan sitting on the couch, drinking a cup of tea. He stands up when he sees you. 

Without thinking, you walk right up to him and punch him in the face.

There’s a sharp  _ crack _ sound. His mug shatters against the ground, tea splashing everywhere. He falls back onto the couch. “What the fuck--” he begins, but you cut him off, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“Did she see you,” you demand.

“What?”

“Kanaya. Last night.  _ Did she fucking see you. _ ”

“I- y-yeah, I think so, the moon was out an’ shit, why the hell-” You drop him and head for the stairs. He jumps up and follows you, holding his nose with one hand. His voice has risen almost half an octave. “Kar, what the shit?”

“She’s alive,” you growl, opening the drawer in your nightstand and digging around. “They just finished with her in surgery. She’s expected to make a full recovery.” You pull out the dagger Jack gave you on your fifteenth birthday, grab the clothes Eridan was wearing last night, and walk away. 

Eridan continues to follow after you, his eyes growing wider by the second. “Kar, what are you--” he begins, but you ignore him again.

“What made you think you could do that? What made you think that was a good idea? What the fuck is  _ wrong _ with you?”

“Hey, I’m not gonna apologize for fuckin’ defending myself!”

“ _ Defending yourself? _ She didn’t pose any threat to you until after you fucking shot at her!” You pick up the shoes he was wearing last night and continue heading for the back door.

“She sent you that reporter, she’s been workin’ to bring me down all along, she’s the mayor! That’s threat enough! She’s been on the list since the beginnin’!”

You grab a bag of match-light charcoal and a lighter as you shove through the back door and onto your little deck. “The list? So you guys have some kind of goddamn hit list? Am I on it?” You don’t give him time to respond as he follows you out onto the deck, stumbling a little. “God, I cannot  _ believe  _ you! Do you even  _ recognize _ the situation you put me in!”

As he responds, you pour the charcoal into your grill without listening to whatever bullshit he’s spewing and light it. “Honestly, I don’t give a  _ shit _ what you have to say right now.” You dump his clothes on the grill once most of the coals have caught fire. The clothes start to burn immediately. “I’ve been putting my neck on the line trying to keep you safe and it’s like you don’t even care! You just tried to kill my only damn living relative! And now I-- Fuck.” You storm away, heading back through the house towards the front door, leaving the clothes to burn. Eridan follows you.

“For shit’s sake, Kar, will you just listen to me! Look at me!”

When you reach the door, you turn around to face him. His nose is bleeding. Usually, you’d care. “This is how it fucking starts, Eridan. You get too confident, you slip up. You get hurt, you leave evidence. I have to clean up after your goddamn mess.” Your grip tightens around your dagger. “But I can’t erase everything. No one can. There will always be a tiny bit of evidence I can’t cover up, and those little pieces will add up over time, and then it’s game over. For both of us. We’re  _ fucked _ .” You turn on your heel and leave, slamming the door behind you.

* * *

 

Your leg really hurts, and so does your head. You still feel slightly nauseous. You also feel kind of like you’re breathing in air from the top of Mount Everest. You try not to think about it.

When you arrive at the hospital, dagger in your inside coat pocket, you’re directed towards a clean white room where Kanaya lays on a hospital bed, hooked up to life support. What you don’t expect to find is Terezi sitting in a chair by Kanaya’s bed.

“Hey, Terezi,” you say, hoping she can’t tell how emotionally fucked up you are at the moment.

“Oh, hey Karkles,” she replies. “The doctors say she looks good, if she makes it through the next couple hours she’ll most likely be fine. She’s not breathing on her own yet, but she should start to in an hour or so.”

“Good to know.” You step closer to Kanaya, looking down at her face. Her dark skin makes a stark contrast against the flat white bedsheets, and somehow she looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen her. Your chest hurts.

Terezi’s here, but she’s blind. In your mind you can see how this should play out. It’s almost painfully easy. Ironically, the heart rate monitor’s beeping, Terezi’s only way of knowing if anything happens, seems to have been muted. You can still see the data on the screen, of course, but there’s no sound. The noise must have been annoying her.

All you have to do is pull off her ventilator. Pull the mask off, wait fifteen minutes just to be sure, put the mask back on. That’s it. Over eight minutes without oxygen causes brain death. Kanaya won’t feel anything, Terezi won’t hear anything, no one will know anything. She just won’t wake up, won’t start breathing on her own. The paramedics got to her just a little bit too late, the doctors will say. Tomorrow, you, her closest living relative, will tell them to pull the plug. Eridan will be safe.

You reach out and put your hand on the plastic oxygen mask. Your whole body is starting to hurt. Have you been drinking water today?

Wait, shit. Fifteen minutes is a long time. Terezi might be blind, but other people aren’t.

“Where’s Nepeta?” you ask casually, as if you aren’t contemplating murder.

Terezi shrugs. “She’s not allowed in here. I only got in by flashing my badge.”

The oxygen mask is cool and smooth under your fingers. “Oh. Okay.” You pause. “Where are the doctors? Like, if I have questions? Also, shouldn’t they be watching her?”

“The nurse was in here just before you left. She makes her rounds every half hour.”

“...How do you even keep track of time? I mean, I know that you have a watch, but you can’t read it, can you?” You try to keep the conversation light, your grip on the mask tightening. 

“No, all blind people can read watches,” she says sarcastically.

“How do you do it?”  _ Breathe, Karkat. _ You feel like you’re suffocating. Your legs are weak, almost numb. Your chest hurts.

“My watch beeps every half hour.”

You slide your fingers under the mask, breaking the seal. On the screen, you can see her heart rate begin to increase, and beside you her chest stops moving. There are tears in your eyes. You’re going to be sick. “And you keep track?”

Her heart rate starts to exceed the safe range. You’re getting tunnel vision.

Terezi says something.

What the fuck is wrong with you.  _ What the fuck is wrong with you. _ You’re going to cry, you’re going to pass out, you’re going to vomit. You can’t think.

“I can’t wait for Kanaya to wake up,” Terezi says.

Everything is wrong, you can’t do anything right, everything  _ hurts,  _ you’re slowly killing your aunt and you punched your fiance and you forgot to take your anemia medication today and

you forgot to take your Hydrea today. Your doctor prescribes it to you because intense anger and stress can trigger sickle cell crises and you’re always angry and stressed so you pay a bit extra for medication to balance it out but you’ve been  _ intensely  _ angry and stressed ever since Eridan came home injured last night and you haven’t had any water all day and now your legs are going numb and your vision is getting blurry and everything  _ hurts _ . You’ve been having a sickle cell crisis for the past twelve hours, probably, and you didn’t notice it because you were so caught up in Eridan and Kanaya and you’ve effectively spent all day making it worse. Suddenly, you press the oxygen mask back over Kanaya’s mouth and step back, repulsed in your dizzy, befuddled state by what you almost did. 

The last thing you see before you lose consciousness is her heart rate starting to normalize. The last thing you think before you lose consciousness is that you guess you've saved your only surviving relative at the expense of the person you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sic infit" translates to "So it begins".
> 
> Please comment! You can also contact me @ eridans-secret-account on Tumblr if you want to find out more about the world of Fix You or talk about it.


	14. Something Of A Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat regains consciousness; the federal government takes an interest in the goings-on in Medium, California.

In a surprising turn of events, you wake up in a hospital bed rather than on the floor beside one.

Beside you sit Eridan and Terezi, one on each side of your bed. Eridan is either asleep or staring at his hands, and Terezi has her earbuds in. You’ve got one of those annoying nostril-tubey oxygen things on your face.

“Eridan,” you say, your voice a little hoarse. Both he and Terezi perk up immediately. 

“Kar,” he replies; you can hear the relief in his voice. Terezi takes out her earbuds. You notice that the bridge of his nose is decorated with a few strips of plaster.

“What happened?” you ask.

“You passed out, an’ they did some shit to you but they couldn’t give you blood or anythin’ because you were unconscious and Kan’s the only person who can give ‘em permission for that stuff, because she’s your aunt, obviously. We had to wait for her to wake up so she could tell ‘em to do the transfusion and let me an’ Ter see you. I think the transfusion went well, I don’t know.”

_ Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t fucking shoot Kanaya, _ you think somewhat viciously, but say nothing because, well, Terezi. “I meant to your nose, dickweed.”

“You fuckin’ broke it, idiot,” he says. Terezi looks confused. “Remember, when you were freakin’ out about Kan and you accidentally hit me in the face with the door?” he lies easily.

“Oh,” you reply. “Sorry about that.” Thinking about punching Eridan reminds you of the much bigger issue at hand. The heart rate monitor shows your pulse accelerating slightly. “Wait, so Kanaya’s awake? Did she say anything about the attack?”

Terezi shakes her head. “She doesn’t remember much, and mostly it was too dark for her to see much either. The doctors say she suffered a minor concussion, which explains the memory loss.”

You let out a sigh of relief, then catch yourself and downturn it into a sigh of disappointment. Eridan gives you a little smile, and you return it. He’s safe. “Well, that’s one more dead-end lead,” you muse, casually starting to take the oxygen tubes out of your nose-- then, of course, Eridan gives you a look and you put them back in with a huff.

“Yeah,” says Terezi. “One more dead-end lead. I can’t wait till something juicy turns up.”

* * *

 

You get released from the hospital seven hours later, with firm instructions from your doctor to drink water, rest, and take your meds. The medical tribunal mandated that you would have to take three days off work ( _ mandated  _ three days,  _ strongly recommended  _ a week and a half. There’s a difference, you remind Eridan), a measure which you very begrudgingly accept. 

By the time you get home, the fight you had over Kanaya seems to have been all but forgotten.  _ Seems. _ You can’t get it out of your head. All the fear, all the anger is still swirling around you as Eridan sits you down on the couch and goes to get you some water from the kitchen. There’s this weird fuzzy feeling that’s been following you around lately, like you’re living in a dream, like you’re looking at the world through a video camera. It makes it a lot easier to not think about the things Eridan does when you’re not watching.

That night, you fall into a deep medicated sleep. If Eridan gets up, quietly dresses himself, and slips out into the night, silent but for the soft  _ click  _ of a handgun pulled from some hidden place, you don’t know it.

* * *

 

Three days crawl by as you spend your house-arrest watching reruns of  _ Will and Grace  _ and receiving sporadic visits (and pies) from Gamzee. On Tuesday, Eridan burns a frozen pizza, nearly setting your house on fire in the process, and takes you out for dinner as penance. 

On Thursday, at last, you return to the station. Terezi and Nepeta seem glad to have you back, and catch you up on everything you missed. There have been two murders since you were last at work. “We’re starting to have a population concern,” Terezi jokes. 

You and Terezi spend the day combing through evidence and information from the scene at Kanaya’s house. There’s generally little, so you feel comfortable taking notes and drawing connections and letting her spitball theories at you. One tub of evidence contains a bag that contains a dark hair. The bag’s label says it’s unidentified- not one of Kanaya’s. You silently pocket it.

* * *

 

On Friday, around 11:46 am, you are sitting in your office when the receptionist buzzes you to let you know there’s someone here for you. Nepeta looks up from the sketch she’s making on her notepad. “You should probably go meet them,” says Terezi, smoothing down her shirt. Confused, you do as you’re told. This hasn’t happened before; usually, the receptionist just reminds reporters that they’re not allowed in the station.

A few minutes later, when you round the corner to the front desk, you nearly have a heart attack. The two people waiting near the desk are wearing matching blue jackets with three letters emblazoned on the back: FBI.

Oh,  _ shit. _ You stop moving and just kind of watch them, your mind spinning out of control. After a moment, one of the people whom you assume to be federal agents- a blonde- sees you and says, “Detective Vantas?”

That one takes you a minute. “Uh, yeah,” you answer once you remember how to speak English.

“Pleasure to meet you,” says the blonde smoothly, stepping forward and extending a hand. “Agent Rose Lalonde.”

You shake her hand. Her gaze is really unsettling; you get the slightly terrifying feeling she’s staring into your soul- made even worse considering you have so much to hide. 

“And I’m Agent Jane Crocker,” says the other agent, a shorter, rounder woman with dark hair and buck teeth. You shake Crocker’s hand in turn, silently glad to break eye contact with Lalonde.

“Hi,” you reply awkwardly. “It’s, nice to meet you too? Sorry, I didn’t really expect you to come here today- well, at all, really.”

Rose Lalonde raises her eyebrows. “Detective Pyrope did mention in her report that you were hospitalized at the time she sent it. Perhaps she forgot to mention it to you?”

You sigh. “Yeah, that is almost certainly what happened. Leave it to Terezi to apply for federal backup while her partner’s in a fucking coma and forget to tell him,” you grumble. “I mean- I assume you’re here as backup?”

Agent Crocker smiles. “Yes, we’re here to assist and oversee your investigation of Alternia. I’m sure all four of our heads together can crack this egg!” 

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” you lie. “So Terezi’s up in the office, I can show you the way.”

“We’d appreciate it,” says Jane.

“That would be perfect.” Rose pauses. “Pardon, have we met before?”

You blink at her. “I-- sorry, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” Her eyes are an odd lavender color; you feel like you would remember them.

* * *

You open the door to your office and lean inside. “Hide the meth, the feds are here.”

Nepeta looks up and slides off the desk she was sitting on, and Terezi turns toward your voice. “Come on in,” Terezi says.

Agents Crocker and Lalonde pile into the office after you, introducing themselves to Terezi and Nepeta. As Nepeta begins to question them about their general lives and relationship statuses, you take a moment to sit down and breathe. You can handle this. Can you? Terezi’s easy to deal with as long as you’re quiet about it. Nepeta might keep you on your toes with how she pokes around and breathes over your shoulder, but she doesn’t have the clearance or experience to pose a real threat. Two FBI agents, though, are your worst nightmare. 

“The Bureau responded to my report pretty damn fast,” Terezi notes. “I was expecting something closer to four months than four days.”

“Well, typically processing can take a long time for non-crisis situations, but Medium is a different matter,” Rose explains. “As soon as we hear the word ‘Alternia’, we put it on a fast track and make it a priority in the hopes of avoiding the same oversight that let Alternia become such a serious problem in the past. The Bureau remembers how many people got hurt last time, and we’re here to do everything we can to prevent that from happening again.”

...Are they really your worst nightmare? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re turning into the kind of person you’ve dedicated your life to tracking down. You’re defending  _ Alternia _ . You’re letting people die out of pure selfishness.

“Figure we’ll put a stop to this soon enough,” Terezi remarks confidently. “Right, Karkles?”

“Huh? Yeah.” You nod. “We will.”

You could put a stop to it now. It’s possible that Alternia would crumble on its own without Eridan and Gamzee. 

You could save countless lives, right now. You could get this weight off your chest. Why haven’t you turned them in yet? Who gave you the authority to decide that their lives are so much more important than the lives of the citizens you’ve sworn to protect?

You can end all this, here and now.

Your phone rings. Without even looking at the caller ID, you pick it up. “Detective Vantas.”

“Oh, are we doin’ the thing where you pretend I’m a complete stranger? Kinky.” As soon as you hear his voice, you can feel yourself breaking in slow motion. Any chance of you doing what you know is the right thing shatters into a million pieces. “Should I say I’m a lonely babysitter?”

You smile a little in spite of yourself, waving off Rose, Jane, and Nepeta’s curious glances. “This isn’t the time, asshat. Aren’t you supposed to be making a living?”

“I’m  _ bored _ ,” he whines.

“You’re at work,” you remind him. “How are you even getting away with this?”

“There’s nothing for me to do,” he complains. “What are you doing?”

“I’m  _ working _ , Eridan,” you say slowly. “People do that sometimes when they’re at work.” Rose and Jane look a little confused. Nepeta and Terezi, on the other hand, are just enjoying themselves; this is pretty much a weekly occurrence.

“You ain’t  _ busy _ , though.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, man. I’m hanging up.”

“You ain’t gonna do tha--” 

You hang up and slide your phone into your pocket.

Terezi looks extremely entertained. “Fiancé soliciting phone sex during work hours again, Karkles?”

Nepeta giggles. You lean forward and smack your forehead against your desk.

“On another topic, isn’t it around lunchtime?” Jane asks. “Miss Lalonde and I haven’t eaten anything for a few hours; we were so eager to get here that we didn’t stop for food!” The slight bemusement on Rose’s face tells you that was mostly Jane’s doing.

“Huh, let me check.” Terezi pretends to look at her watch. “No clue.” She cackles to herself.

“It’s definitely lunchtime, I think!” Nepeta chimes in.

“What would you three say to showing Agent Crocker and myself a good place to get lunch around here?” asks Rose.

“I would love to hear more about the situation at large and get to know you all better,” Jane agrees.

“Perfect,” says Terezi. “Let’s blow this joint. Karkat, you’re coming,” she adds preemptively. 

“But-”

“ _But_ you’re coming. Get your damn jacket or we’ll leave you behind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long!   
> Next time: a lot of planning.


	15. The Public Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation ensues.

“So where are you two from?” asks Nepeta, notepad at the ready as always. 

“I was born and raised in Seattle,” says Jane. “I majored in criminal justice at the University of Washington and went straight into the FBI.”

“I didn’t know they had crime in Seattle,” Terezi jokes.

“It’s worse than you might think,” Jane responds simply.

“I’m from Chicago,” Rose replies in turn. You lived in Chicago too, for a while, you think vaguely. “I have degrees in psychology and forensics. One day, I heard that the FBI was looking for forensic pathologists and decided to apply.”

Nepeta nods thoughtfully, scribbling on her notepad. “What made you want to go into justice?”

Jane blushes a little. “I just really loved old-timey detective films when I was younger,” she admits. “It was always a dream of mine.”

“Mostly I just watched the local news,” says Rose. “And the local news in Chicago, especially at that time, had more than enough tales of criminals and detectives for me to get hooked. Being the sort of person who always wants to know everything, I decided that I would grow up to solve cases more effectively than the lackluster police department we had. I particularly remember there were a few years during which this one gang--” She looks at you, cocks her head, squints a little. Realization dawns on her face. Fuck. “I knew I had seen you before, Karkat. You were on television.” Nepeta looks at you, confused. “You were involved in the Midnight Crew case, weren’t you? I remember- you testified at Jack Noir’s trial.”

You cough uncomfortably. “You have an unsettlingly good memory, Agent Lalonde.”

“I pride myself on it.” She leans forward a little, staring into your eyes. Unnoticed, a waiter places a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. “You testified as his- adopted son? So I assume you were sent to live with him when Medium was under Alternia’s control?”

“Yeah,” you say, taking a long sip of coffee and trying to ignore how your heart is racing. Nepeta takes notes furiously.

Rose’s eyes narrow just slightly; her tone shifts almost unnoticeably. You recognize that this conversation has become an interrogation. “You testified for a gangster. You- you were practically raised by a gangster, you must have been. And now you’re a detective?”

If Agent Lalonde wants to dance, you can fucking dance. You draw yourself up confidently. “Jack Noir was  _ acquitted _ . You and your  _ stellar _ memory must have caught that. We all heard the jury declare him not guilty, and you, Agent, are legally bound to honor and accept that result. The guy who, as you so astutely pointed out,  _ raised me _ was charged with a crime he didn’t commit and threatened with life or worse, so yeah, I fucking testified. And then I became a detective to keep more innocent people off the stand and put more actually guilty people on it. If you don’t like that, it’s not my damn problem.” This is an easy lie, because parts of it are true.

Rose raises her eyebrows, then smiles. “You’ll have to forgive me for goading you, Karkat. I always did wonder what the truth was, and I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to find out once and for all. I apologize for upsetting you.”

You let out a breath, deflating slightly. “It’s fine. I’m not upset, I’m just sick of people thinking he was guilty.”

“I apologize regardless.”

“It’s fine.”

A few seconds pass, then Jane breaks the silence. “Is the pie here any good?”

* * *

 

“How was work?” Eridan asks as soon as you walk in the door.

By way of answer, you give a long sigh and collapse on the sofa beside him.

He slides an arm around you. You can tell he’s concerned, as he should be; you coming home upset typically means bad news for him. “What happened?”

Where do you start? “While I was in the hospital, apparently, Terezi filed a report on the Alternia situation.” You pause. “She filed it with the FBI.”

Eridan takes a sharp breath, suddenly tense. “What?”

“Two agents showed up at the station today. Crocker and Lalonde.”

“Feds?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“...Yeah.”

“...What’re they like?”

“They’re good. I mean,  _ really  _ good. I haven’t even seen them at work yet, but Lalonde fucking scares me.”

He pauses. “Should-”

“For god’s sake, Eridan, no. This is the  _ FBI _ . If anything happens to these two, they’ll send in more agents- even better ones, probably. You don’t fuck with the feds, man.”

He nods slowly, looking worried. “Yeah. I get it. I just- I wish I could do something about this, you know?”

“Well, you could stop killing people, for one,” you tell him.

“Ha, ha. That’s real funny.”

You look at him incredulously.

* * *

 

“We’ve had a good look at all the files on Alternia, so I do believe we’re more or less up to speed on the facts,” says Jane. The five of you are sitting around a table in one of the smaller meeting rooms at the station, blinds covering the room’s windows. “Right now, it would be wonderful to hear your theories.”

“At this point in the investigation, we don’t feel that there’s enough evidence for us to suggest any suspects,” you respond. “However, we do believe that Alternia is responsible for the recent attacks, that like its previous iteration, Alternia is a group of people comprising a gang and a cult- with a hell of a lot of overlap- and that their ultimate goal is to assert some sort of dominance over Medium, if not a greater area, and implement their old weird-ass blood caste system.”

“We’re also pretty sure most of the killings have been fear tactics, rather than personally motivated acts of violence, save for the more targeted ones that took place at their victims’ residences,” Terezi adds.

Rose nods. “What about the one that was not a killing?” she asks. “Interim Mayor Kanaya Maryam? Do you have any theories as to why that went wrong? We’re all very glad that it did, of course, but I wonder why.”

You try not to show how uncomfortable you are with the topic of Kanaya. “It seems pretty obvious to me. She was working in her garden, which often involves sudden or erratic movement, so it’s not too surprising that the attacker missed at first. Honestly, the shooter- assuming that it’s been the same person- could have missed before and we likely wouldn’t have noticed if the bullet had hit brick or stone or metal or anything like that. But the real difference was that, well, she was armed. She forced the shooter into close-range combat, and unless the shooter had a fucking broadsword we don’t know about, it was a chainsaw against a knife. The shooter stabbed her as close to a vital organ as they could get- not to mention it was dark, which would’ve made it even harder to aim true- and got the fuck out.”

Rose and Jane look at you oddly. Terezi cocks her head.

“Chainsaw?” Terezi asks.

“I don’t believe there was a chainsaw found at the scene,” adds Jane.

_ Fuck. _ You blink, pretending to be slightly taken aback. “There wasn’t?” you ask. “I mean, I don’t really remember, I was pretty overwhelmed at the time. I guess I just assumed she had a chainsaw because she typically uses one when she’s out doing her landscaping thing.”

“Got it.” Terezi leans back and nods. “Maryam is Karkat’s aunt,” she explains to Rose and Jane.

“Ah, of course,” says Rose. “In that case, I think we ought to ask Mayor Maryam whether she did indeed have a chainsaw at the time of the attack. She never mentioned it in her interview, but she was having difficulty recalling the event in question. If you’re right, Karkat, this could be very helpful in time. If she had a chainsaw when she was attacked, but we found none the next morning, there’s only one person who could have taken it.”

“That’s true.” Where did you put that chainsaw, again?

“I’ll make a note for us to speak to Mayor Maryam,” Jane offers, already making a bullet-point on her notepad. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Rose responds. “Moving on, what are your theories as far as how Alternia is organizing itself? As in, how do you think members are contacting one another with orders, plans, et cetera?”

“Well, we know original-flavor Alternia had a really effective dead-drop system that they used for that shit,” Terezi says. “Of course, there’s the internet now, but why fix what’s not broken, you know?”

Rose nods. “I asked because I highly doubt that they would be using anything as obvious, or more importantly, interceptable and traceable as the internet. Whoever is orchestrating all of this, it’s clear to me that they’re far too intelligent and careful to take such a risk.”

She’s right, you know. “That being said, we should still keep an eye on virtual communications,” you chime in. “They might be expecting us to make that assumption and ignore their texts to their friends about the best places to buy grease paint and juggling clubs.” It’s a good idea to get the department to spread itself needlessly thin, you figure.

“I do agree with Karkat,” says Jane. “There’s no danger in being vigilant!”

A little murmur of agreement passes around the table, then Nepeta speaks up. “Speaking of plans, we need to figure out what ours is, officially. You will all be asked many times what is being and will be done about Alternia, and we’re better off if we all know our answer to that question well before the microphones are in our faces.” You all nod assent. “The plans we publicize need to be substantial enough to keep the media happy and the public feeling safe, but restrained enough to keep Alternia from pre-empting our moves. Go.”

“We can mention monitoring virtual communications,” Terezi begins. “We’ll have to go into detail about how we’re doing it effectively without infringing upon citizens’ right to privacy.”

“So we can speak for some time without saying much at all,” adds Rose appreciatively. “That is a good idea. I’ll contribute that we can talk about the work our forensic scientists are doing to get evidence from the crime scenes, as well as ask the public to tell us anything they may know.”

“I believe we might also mention that we’re in the process of compiling lists of potential suspects whom we intend to interview,” Jane answers in turn.

All four of them look at you. “Couldn’t we just…  _ tell  _ them that we can’t talk much about it in the interest of public safety?” you ask. “I mean, it would take away the slight advantage of Alternia possibly thinking that they know everything, which is unlikely anyways, but it would send a pretty clear message that we’re not fucking around.”

Nepeta cocks her head. “Let’s hold on that one for now, but it’s definitely a possibility for later. Remember, hundreds of people are depending on us to comfort them, and even more people are waiting to read way too far into anything and everything you say.”

Jane nods. “There are a whole lot of eyes on us. Any move we make will be seen and scrutinized by the world.”

“What do you mean?” asks Terezi, confused.

Rose raises her eyebrows slightly. “This isn’t the turn of the century anymore, Terezi. It’s the age of information. Last time, Medium’s seclusion and the government’s ability to deal with Alternia quietly was enough to keep it out of dinner-table conversations, but this time the word is already out. This case has been attracting considerable attention, especially since the Bureau assigned us to it. A number of somewhat high-profile articles and news pieces have featured this story already, and audiences are interested. Starting in the next few weeks, you can expect to be nagged by interviewers and reporters from national and international news outlets.” She gives a little laugh. “It is interesting how much Medium citizens really do keep to yourselves; if you payed even mild attention to world news, you would all know about this by now.”

You blink. “What?”

Rose smiles. “It’s nothing to worry about, Karkat. We probably shouldn’t even have mentioned it. Just keep doing your job and everything will work out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fix You is officially over 30K words! Thank you for sticking with me this far!  
> Next time: a murder, a plan, and a discovery.


	16. My Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder, investigated; a secret, uncovered.

Agents Crocker and Lalonde pretty seamlessly settle into life at the station. By the time they get to investigate their first Alternia killing, the five of you are working as a “cohesive unit”, as Reggie Pyrope says when she makes her weekly Office Hours Terezi Check-In. So when the call comes, you’re ready. You push open the heavy front doors of the police station and are immediately met by a dense wall of reporters.

“Detective-”

“How do you explain--”

“Agent-”

“--are your plans--”

“Miss!”

“--intend on taking--”

“Alternia?”

“FBI--”

“--marriage to a--”

“Ringleaders-”

“Rumor has it--”

“--cult ties--”

“--impossible odds--”

“Agents! A-”

“--history--”

“Ampora--”

“--government cover-up--”

You sort of freeze there with the door wide open, like a deer in the headlights, in shock at the sheer volume of this chaos. It seems that your compatriots are having the same issue; while they seem slightly more coherent than you, they seem to have absolutely no idea how to process what’s happening around them. There is one person, however, who keeps her cool.

You feel a tug on your sleeve, barely register it, then acutely register a strong yank on your arm and turn to find Nepeta Leijon looking at you expectantly.

“Get their attention,” she says.

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’re loud! They won’t hear me over the sounds of their own voices!” Fair enough. You take a deep breath.

“ _ HEY!!” _

To your immense satisfaction, everyone shuts up and looks to you and Nepeta for a moment. “We have been called to investigate a crime scene,” she yells into the crowd. “This is more important than whatever op-ed piece BuzzFeed told you to write for them, okay? If you continue to harass the investigators, you will be reported for attempting to obstruct the investigation. I will  _ personally  _ write down your name and send an email to your superior explaining to them how your actions cost your media organization any chance it might have had at getting an interview. You will absolutely not get any information save for what you manage to scrape from the plates of other journalists and reporters. Get out of our way.”

In that moment, Nepeta Leijon becomes a veritable Moses, the sea of would-be interviewers parting before her fearsome might. You trail after her as she walks confidently through the cleared path, towards the cars that are waiting to take you to the crime scene.

* * *

 

The scene is yet another taped-off sidewalk, swarming with cops and paramedics and hopeful/idiotic reporters. You duck under the cop-show style yellow tape, then hold it up and guide Terezi through.

“Well, that is a dead body,” says Jane.

“Indeed it is,” says Rose.

Once Terezi’s through the tape, you follow Rose and Jane’s gazes and head for the corpse, which is partly surrounded by an in-progress chalk outline being drawn by a junior officer. Terezi follows you, her cane occasionally smacking your heels with Rose, Jane, and Nepeta not far behind. “Hey, get your grubby paws off my evidence, Strider,” you say gruffly. 

The cop in front of you looks up from his sidewalk art. “Don’t lie to me, Vantas. You love it when I put my hands on your evidence.”

“You know, your jokes are never funny, but they’re even less so when we’re standing over a fresh corpse whose murderer I’m supposed to bring to justice. Get out of my way and I swear to God I’ll report you to HR if you keep harassing me, you incurable dickwad,” you retort. Meanwhile, Rose and Jane go straight for the corpse, looking at the shattered skull, the positioning, the blood spatters.

“Wow, way to take a joke,” says Officer Strider with a slight smirk, handing his chalk to Terezi. “See you tonight, baby.” He walks away. You take a moment to make a face after him, then crouch over the body beside your colleagues. Terezi sniffs the chalk.

“Who was that?” Jane asks.

You sigh. “Dave Strider. Total asshole. Terezi and I both dated him at one point or another- we bonded over how much we both fucking regret it- and he seems to think that he and I are still friends, which we’re fucking not.”

Rose laughs. “That aside, what are we looking at here?”

“This is basically every other casual Alternia homicide we’ve seen,” says Dr. Megido, whom you could’ve sworn wasn’t there a second ago. “I haven’t tested this properly, of course, but it looks like we have some traces of lacquer in the wound. Karkat, I’m going to take a liver temperature reading to help estimate time of death, so I suggest you avert your eyes.” She smiles up at you, and you gladly do as suggested.

The five of you mill about for a couple minutes, and then a voice cuts through the crowd. “Karkat!”

You spin around, and are immediately enveloped in a hug. “Hey, Kanaya.”

“Hello,” Kanaya says when she lets you go. “I apologize for being so eager, but- well, a lot has happened since we last met.” Yeah, like you tried to kill her.

“It’s okay,” you reply, hiding your discomfort. “Yeah, it’s been a while.” You look around and find that a nearby Rose has stopped what she’s doing to watch Kanaya. “Oh, um, this is Agent Rose Lalonde.”

Kanaya’s eyes light up, and the two women shake hands. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she says smoothly.

“The same to you,” says Rose.

“You and your partner are here to aid Karkat and Detective Pyrope in the Alternia investigation, yes? The whole situation has been slightly under wraps, as it happens,” Kanaya admits.

“Yes, we are. Well, that’s why we’re in Medium. We’re here in this particular place to have a look at your body, as it were. Not  _ your _ body, of course, simply the body that is here, in the scene you are at. The cadaver. We are not here to have a look at your body- unless you wanted that, I suppose, then perhaps we could work something out. Not to imply that you would do that, yet not to imply that there would be anything wrong with that. If you were interested in casual affairs or romantic affairs or myself, I would have nothing against that. Please prevent me from saying anything else, Mayor.”

Kanaya laughs, delicately covering her mouth with one hand (to hide the sharp canines she’s always been so self-conscious about, as you know she does on the rare occasion that she’s talking to someone she wants to impress). “The last thing I wish is for you to stop talking to me, Agent Lalonde.”

Rose blushes softly. You decide to leave the two of them alone.

* * *

 

“I hope this doesn’t come across as derogatory, Miss Pyrope, but I am really curious as to how you experience a crime scene, being- well, blind,” says Jane a little sheepishly as she, you, Terezi, and Nepeta walk together away from the crime scene.

“You mean like what I observe?” Terezi asks,

“Exactly,” Jane answers.

“Well, it smells like death and clowns, in that particular order reversed. All around me, I hear scrubs talking about scrub things. I can feel something brushing up against my leg when I walk forward. Is it a lamp post? A friendly dog? A human leg? A human leg taped to a dog tied to a lamp post? All are plausible, and this is why I have a partner.”

You laugh. “Terezi, that’s your bag.”

“You all see my point. I, however, do not.” She cackles.

* * *

 

One day, Eridan shows up at the station right around when CSI: Medium (as Terezi has dubbed your motley crew) is about to break for lunch. He pokes his head into the meeting room you’re using, waiting for Jane to finish her thought before saying, “Kar?”

“Oh, Eridan.” You look over at him and stand up to go meet him in the doorway. “Who the fuck let you in here?” you ask by way of a hello.

“You know the lady at the front desk knows better than to try an’ keep me away from you,” he replies, leaning down to give you a kiss, which you allow. 

In your peripheral vision, your workmates are paying rapt attention to this exchange. “ _ Why _ are you here?” you ask, a bit softer. “Wait, actually--” You turn to the others in the room. “Are we done here? At least for now?” They all nod; you turn back to Eridan. “Okay, come on in, and then answer my question.”

He steps inside as Nepeta starts packing up her notepad and materials. “Well, your friend Nepeta contacted me recently to let me know that you ain’t been drinkin’ much water and I figured the situation oughtta be resolved.”

Nepeta freezes; you give her a look of utmost betrayal. “It’s the truth, Karkitty,” she says unapologetically. “It’s certainly not good for you.” Terezi and Jane make little noises of agreement.

“Hey, you all can step off, okay. I’ve been drinking plenty.” You head back to your chair, stuff your files into your little messenger bag, and sling the bag over your shoulder. 

Eridan crosses his arms. “Coffee don’t fuckin’ count, Kar. We all know that shit just dehydrates you.” You make an annoyed sound. “I’m just sayin’, you aren’t gonna be helpin’ anyone by endin’ up in a coma again.”

“Except maybe Alternia,” Terezi jokes, and it’s funny because you know Eridan meant  _ especially _ Alternia.

You glare at Eridan, trying to mind-control him into getting out of the way of the door. He doesn’t budge. Meanwhile, Rose and Jane are packing up and preparing to head out as well.

“I must say, you do seem somewhat lacking in the self-care-strategy department, Karkat,” Rose chimes in. “An intervention like this seems to be the logical way of addressing it. Agent Rose Lalonde, by the way,” she says affably, extending her hand to Eridan. “I assume you are the Eridan Ampora of whom I’ve heard so much- and somehow simultaneously, so little?”

“That I am,” he replies over a firm handshake; you have no idea how he’s keeping his cool so well right now.

“Pleasure to meet you. This is my partner, Agent Jane Crocker,” she adds, gesturing to Jane, who momentarily looks up from typing something on her phone to give Eridan a smile and half-wave, which he returns- sans smile.

“So, boys,” Nepeta prods as you begrudgingly fill a paper cup with water from the little water cooler in the corner, “how are the wedding plans coming along?”

“Pretty well,” Eridan answers conversationally as he sternly watches you drink the water, leaning against the meeting table. “We got the venue booked for October tenth a couple days ago and we’re workin’ on food an’ guest lists now.”

“October tenth? That’s pretty damn soon,” Terezi notes. “What is this, a shotgun wedding?”

You finish your water and cross your arms. “Yeah, it’s exactly that. Eridan knocked me up and you all know how old-fashioned my parents are,” you respond sardonically.

Nepeta giggles; Eridan gives a little laugh; Rose looks deeply amused; Jane blushes. “You get your m-preg shit out of this respectable establishment, Karkat Vantas,” Terezi cackles. That gets a laugh out of you.

“Really though, the scare with needing Kan’s consent for Kar’s blood transfusion during his crisis was a real wake-up call for us,” Eridan explains, and it’s mostly true. “We decided we should get this shit done ASAP so we don’t gotta worry about that happenin’ again.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” says Jane. 

Rose nods. “Marriage does have its benefits-- God bless the Supreme Court, you know?”

There’s a murmur of agreement. “Speakin’ of the wedding, if any a’ you want to come, you’re welcome,” Eridan says unexpectedly. “I mean, I’m assuming Kar won’t mind, an’ Ter’s already on the guest list, but yeah.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you say honestly- though you are a little surprised by Eridan so readily inviting people who are by default his enemies to attend his wedding.

“I would love to come!” Nepeta exclaims, looking like Christmas came early.

Jane smiles at you. “I certainly believe it would be nice to get a short reprieve from all of this.”

“See some happiness in the world, and all that,” Rose adds with a soft smile.

* * *

 

That weekend, you are laying on the couch with your head in Eridan’s lap, watching reruns of  _ Will and Grace _ , when your phone rings. You start to sit up, but Eridan gently pushes you back down and reaches for your phone himself.

“Karkat Vantas’s phone,” he says automatically. “Uh, yeah, he’s right here. You want me to hand you to him?” Pause. “Got it.” You reach up, take it out of his hand, and put it to your own ear.

“Karkat?” asks a familiar voice, carefully steady. 

“Hey, Nepeta. What’s going on?” you counter, concerned, waving off Eridan’s questioning look. 

“I- I don’t really know,” she says quietly; you almost have to strain to understand what she’s saying. “I don’t know anymore. I- gosh, I’m sorry to disturb you like this, but there’s a, a thing, and I don’t know what to do I had to talk to someone.”

You sit up. “What kind of thing? Are you alright? Are you safe?”

“It’s- no, I’m not in danger, don’t worry. I’m okay. I just- I- I don’t know how to say this over the phone, I don’t know if I should.” Her voice wavers.

“Do you want me to come over? I’m coming over.” You stand up and turn around twice, looking for your shoes while Eridan continues to watch, confused.

“Yes, yes please. I didn’t wanna ask, but thank you so much.”

“I’m on my way. Text me your address.” You hang up and turn to Eridan. “Something has Nepeta about two seconds away from passing out. I’m going to check on her, and if I find out you had  _ anything _ to do with this--”

He holds up his hands, eyebrows raised. “Swear to god, Kar, I didn’t. You told me not to, I listened to you. If somethin’ happened, I don’t know jack shit of it, okay.”

You give him a long, analyzing look, then put your shoes on and say, “Alright, man, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” An insistent buzz in your hand tells you that Nepeta has shared her address; you head for the door, grabbing the car keys on the way out. “I’ll get back when I get back.”

* * *

Nepeta’s house is relatively small, but proportionally large considering she’s the only person in it to the best of your knowledge. Double-checking the metal 1933 affixed to the brick wall, you approach and knock three times on her front door. A moment later, the door opens to reveal Nepeta wearing her signature olive-green jacket, a Neko Atsume tee, and sweatpants. She looks like she’s been crying.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says with a tiny half-smile. “Come on in.”

You follow her through her cozy house and into her kitchen, which is smallish and a little messy, where she offers you tea. Suspecting that she needs a few minutes to pull herself together before she tells you about whatever’s bothering her so much, you tell her tea would be great.

A fluffy grey cat brushes up against your legs as you sit at Nepeta’s breakfast table. “Oh shit, hey,” you say to it, surprised.

Nepeta looks up from her kettle. “Oh, sorry, I should have introduced you! That’s Pounce de Leon. She’s really nice. You should probably be a little gentle with her, though, because we don’t have guests that often.”

Pounce de Leon purrs.

A couple minutes later, Nepeta places a cup of tea on the table in front of you. You thank her; she sits down across from you and tells you you’re welcome.

“Thank you for coming,” she says softly once your tea is about half gone. “Again, I’m sorry for bothering you, but… You’re the only person I feel like I can talk to about this, there was no one else I could call.”

“It’s no problem, seriously,” you begin. “So,  _ are  _ you okay? What happened?”

Nepeta looks into her tea and takes a deep breath. “I-- My--” She shakes her head slightly. “Oh- come with me.”

She stands up, and you follow. As she leads you through a door in the hallway and down some stairs, she explains that over the past few months, she’s been casually working on cleaning out her basement, which has been a huge mess and just full of things for as long as she can remember. Today, when she was doing a little work down here, she came across- something. She still can’t get herself to say it, whatever it is, but she leads you through the cluttered labyrinth of her basement towards it. Finally, she stops in front of a little area that’s even more of a mess than the rest. You step past her to assess the scene.

A wooden cupboard/closet thing stands before you, its doors flung haphazardly open. Its shelves are half-full of crates and shoeboxes; the spaces in it were presumably previously filled with the boxes that are now set out on the floor, some of them open, some overturned, some looking messily rifled-through. The boxes are full of papers, some removed from their boxes and strewn across the floor.

“The chest was locked when I found it,” Nepeta says quietly. “I picked it with a hairpin.”

You get closer to the papers, and find that they seem to be letters, some in little envelopes, some loose.

“I’ve only read a few,” Nepeta adds, quieter than ever.

You get down on your knees and pick up one of the envelopes. There is no address on it, nor return address, nor stamp or residual adhesive. It simply reads

**_My dearest Disciple_ **

in handwriting strikingly similar to your own.

Oh, shit. Does this mean what you think it means? 

With barely-quivering hands, you open the envelope.

_ M., _

> _ I cannot thank you enough for extending your hospitality to me in my time of need. I wish I could promise you the same.  _
> 
> _ Your daughters are brilliant, by the by. I don’t believe I had a chance to mention it when we were together; I only briefly met them, but it’s clear that they take after their mother in all the best ways. At the same time, they inspired me to remind you once again to be careful. Our cause is just, but it is not just cause for you to throw away this life.  _
> 
> _ I have nothing left to lose, but your daughters need you. _
> 
> _ Pleasantries and pleasant things aside, there will be a meeting at the usual place near Prospit next Wednesday. I would hope to see you there, if you have no prior engagements. _
> 
> _ My time now is short, so I have to say goodbye, until and unless we meet again. _
> 
> _ Yours as ever _
> 
> _ K. Vantas _

Okay, you’re crying, but so is Nepeta and she’s not even reading this so it works out.

Now you know why you’re the only person she could call.

You look up at Nepeta. “Did you know?”

She shakes her head, sniffling. “I don’t even remember meeting him. I must have been five years old. And my- my mom never told me, about any of it. Never told me she was the Disciple.” She hiccups. “All I knew was one day she didn’t come home.”

There’s a moment of silence. “I’m sorry.”

Nepeta nods, wiping her face. “I guess it should be reassuring or comforting in some way, to know that she wasn’t just another victim. That at least she died trying to fix things, you know? But it’s not. It’s not.”

“Yeah.” There’s a hardened sympathy in your voice and in your eyes when you look at her. “I know.”

She chokes up and starts crying again, seeming almost to curl in on herself. Her knees seem to give out; she kneels on the ground less than two feet away from you, sobbing into her hands. You don’t know what to say. Nepeta’s tears come in waves, you notice, and soon enough she’s wiping her face and trying to slow her breathing.

She looks over at you, face still wet despite her efforts. “We’re gonna hunt down the bastards that did this.”

Without thinking, you shift so that you’re properly sitting on the floor right next to her, then pull her into a hug. She leans into you, blots of wetness soaking through your shirt where her face is pressed, moving to curl up in your lap. You remember this. You were in Pennsylvania, or Arizona, or New York, three days before your seventeenth birthday, and you cried against Jack Noir’s shoulder as though the sky itself had shattered. You don’t have to remember the feeling; it still lives inside you, somewhere, but only now do you realize that somewhere along the line you found the mute button.

“It’ll get better,” you tell her as softly as you can manage, trying to force down your guilt.  _ We’re gonna hunt down the bastards that did this _ , she said _. _ You can’t tell her that those bastards answered your phone when she called, that she contacted those bastards when she was worried you weren't drinking enough water.

“No,” she mumbles, hiccuping. “I’ll just learn to live with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet, oops :/  
> It's so long I couldn't actually include everything I wanted to include, so stay tuned for more on Nepeta's situation next chapter!


	17. If Walls Could Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -I'd pray that they would tell me what to do.
> 
> Houses hold secrets and windows remember; hallways haunt and ceilings lie in wait.

You set a mug on the breakfast table in front of Nepeta, accompanied by the hearty, bittersweet smell of tea.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“No problem,” you reply, sitting down across from her.

She blows gently into her cup, then takes a sip, wary of the heat. The little analog clock on her wall ticks sluggishly. You study your hands. From the nearby windowsill, Pounce de Leon meows plaintively, pawing at the curtains. A sliver of cool morning light slips through, casting itself across the table.

“She wants the curtains open,” Nepeta muses to herself.

You stand and pull open the curtains, immediately brightening the kitchen with the gentle pastels of the softly clouded sky. Dust swirls in the light, stirred by your sudden and sweeping movement, as you sit back down. Nepeta blinks and sits up, as though woken from a trance.

“Oh no,” she says suddenly. “Won’t Eridan wonder where you are? He must be worried.”

“Shit.” You didn’t think of that. “I mean, no, he knew there was a situation and you needed me and he’s pretty well fucking accustomed to me running off at a moment’s notice and staying really late.”

“Yeah, but you stayed overnight, and when was the last time you checked your phone? He could have tried to contact you.”

She’s right, and you both know it. He doesn’t even know what you were doing here; for all he knows, you could’ve gotten injured or worse. “Do you remember where I left my phone?”

She shakes her head. “You’re the detective here, Karkitty.”

“Damn.” It’s definitely not on you; Nepeta’s fleece pajama pants don’t have any pockets. Last you remember, you powered it off and put it in your pocket, before you went down into the basement. “I probably left it in my pants last night. I’ll go get it.”

“Okay,” she responds as you get up again. As you walk past her, you pause and lean down to press a kiss to her forehead.

You step into Nepeta’s bedroom, quickly sliding a hand under the rumpled bedclothes just in case you dropped your phone there. Finding nothing, you make your way around to her nightstand, on the floor next to which your clothes lie neatly folded. You rifle through your pockets until your fingers curl around your phone, then head back to the kitchen while it powers up.

The screen brightens just as you step through the kitchen doorway, momentarily revealing a default wallpaper before the notifications start rolling in. You stop to check your messages, navigating first to Terezi’s contact, where you learn that there was another killing yesterday but she and Jane decided to handle the scene themselves, and then to Eridan’s. The timestamps on his messages tell the whole story.

> [05:30 pm] hey kar are you doin okay
> 
> [06:28 pm] kar
> 
> [07:33 pm] kar wwhat the fuck
> 
> [08:02 pm] wwhere are you
> 
> [08:45 pm] seriously answwer me i aint fuckin around
> 
> [09:06 pm] are you pissed off or wwhat
> 
> [09:17 pm] just let me knoww youre alivve or somethin cmon
> 
> [10:38 pm] swwear to god kar i hope you knoww this shit aint funny
> 
> [11:43 pm] karkat please im gonna lose my shit
> 
> [12:36 am] im gonna try an sleep if you dont respond by tomorroww im gonna   call the fuckin cops or somethin idk

“Shit,” you mutter.

Nepeta turns. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s all fucking peachy,” you reply, texting furiously.

> HEY, I’M OKAY, I’M SAFE. DON’T CALL THE COPS.

Eridan replies almost immediately.

> christ wwhat the shit took you so long
> 
> IT’S COMPLICATED. I’M STILL DEALING WITH IT. I’LL BE BACK LATER TODAY.
> 
> ok i guess
> 
> youre sure youre safe
> 
> YEAH.

You sit down across from Nepeta once again. “How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better,” she replies vaguely, looking into her now-empty mug. “Thank you for staying over. It really helped to have someone there.”

“No problem. If you ever need someone to hug the shit out of you, you know where to find me.”

She smiles. There’s a pause, and then you both speak at the same time.

“Do you think--” you begin.

“I want to read through the letters,” she blurts out.

“--you’d be okay with looking- oh,” you finish. “Really? Wow. Okay.”

She nods. “Can we do it now? While I’m feeling good about it?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

The two of you sit on her basement floor, looking through shoeboxes full of old, worn letters. A few of them are from Nepeta’s mother (almost always to your father, presumably stashed here by him because he had nowhere of his own); some are from other unnamed members of the resistance; most are from your father. Your hope in this endeavor is to find information that might supplement your knowledge of the workings of and efforts against Alternia’s original incarnation- and yeah, maybe to learn a little more about your father, a man who in the ten years since his death has been reduced to folklore and grainy photographs. Even your memory of him has faded and been supplanted in some places by the version of him preserved in the collective memory of Medium. Nepeta, you think, is searching for information, answers, and maybe closure.

You read the letters together, aloud, Nepeta voicing her mother’s words and you your father’s, making these remnants of them almost tangible in the air between you. There are no dates on any of these, you find.

“I hope this finds you safe,” Nepeta reads off of a creased sheet of paper carelessly torn from a notebook many years ago. “I’ve been studying the message from the intercepted dead drop and I think I’m close to breaking the code. It likely goes without saying that we should try to intercept more messages, as many and as soon as possible.

“In other news, do you know whether we lost anyone in the shooting on Tuesday?” she continues. “Every day more innocent people suffer, and every day we desensitize ourselves more and more to these tragedies. I find myself thinking only of whether our cause has been injured, and not of those who have lost a loved one and those loved ones who have been lost. This seems some strange and insidious deadening of our humanity, and I fear what it portends, but I must regardless ask whether any of our comrades were killed.

“I fear a day when you and I are gone, when Medium has utterly resigned and acclimated itself to these horrors, and tears are shed only and rarely at the loss of the most dearly beloved.

“M. Leijon.” Nepeta exhales. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly.

“Your turn,” she reminds you after a moment. “Pick a random one this time.”

“Alright, alright.” You reach for a different shoebox, pulling an envelope from the middle of the pile in it, then check that it bears your father’s handwriting and open it.

“My dearest Disciple, et cetera,” you paraphrase as you unfold the letter, then start to read. “I hope this letter finds you safe. There have been no major catastrophes nor victories since last we spoke, nor is there anything you particularly need to know. We are still waiting to hear of Captor.

“I understand that I likely ought not to have run the risks involved in contacting you when I have little of import to say, but I can’t stop thinking about last night. I can’t get it out of my head, and I don’t want to. When you tied- _whoa shit_ .” You freeze. “That… can’t be- hell.” Shake your head. Blink. It’s still there. “What the _fuck_. Oh my god. Oh, eugh, shit.”

“What does it say? Read it to me.”

Your eyes widen even more; you shake your head vigorously. “I- I can’t say, I don’t- I- I- I can’t, even, I can’t, make those words with my mouth.”

Frowning, Nepeta leans over your shoulder. “Here, let me see-aah. Aaaaaah! Ew! Oh, ew! Ew ew ew! Oh! Oh no, oh no, why would they, that’s so _gross_!”

“I’m fucking disgusted,” is all you can say. For once in your life, you’re speechless. Both of you sit, frozen, reading and rereading and rereading. You can’t take your eyes off it. It’s like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Like _reading_ a trainwreck in slow motion. An X-rated trainwreck. With lots and lots of leather, and many adjectives that are now ruined for you forever.

“Oh no,” Nepeta breathes intermittently. “Oh no, oh no.”

“I can’t believe I’m kinkshaming my dead father,” you mumble.

Eventually, she pulls herself away and starts desperately scanning every letter she can get her hands on. Every thirty seconds or so, she makes a terrified little squeaking noise and puts a paper in the ever-growing Sin Pile.

“Oh, oh no,” she exclaims once. “Karkat, look at this!”

“I don’t want to see it!” you cry, the pitch of your voice rising.

“No, look! Look!” She practically shoves it in your face. “I had to look, you have to look!”

“Oh, shit on a fucking spatula,” you curse, scanning the lines. “Oh my god, they both definitely went to hell.”

Nepeta’s pile grows and grows. After a few minutes, she stops and just stares at it, almost vacantly.

“Now I know why God abandoned humanity,” she breathes.

* * *

 

“I’m back,” you call out a couple hours later, closing your front door behind you.

There’s a little thump in the next room, followed by some kind of scramble, and then Eridan appears in front of you, hair messy but otherwise unharmed. “Don’t fuckin’ do that again,” he says by way of a hello.

You sigh. “Sorry, sorry, it was stupid of me, I’m a complete asshole for doing that to you. I should have checked my phone, I’m an idiot.”

He scowls down at you. “You ain’t, don’t say that.”

You raise yourself onto the balls of your feet and kiss him. He accepts that apology much better.

“So what was the situation with Nep?” he asks after a few moments.

You sigh again. “Oh, yeah.” Meanwhile, your mind veers ahead at top speed: what should you tell him? Being the Disciple’s daughter could easily put Nepeta in danger, even though you’ve told Eridan not to touch her; you saw what happened to the Summoner’s son. But you don’t want to lie to Eridan about something like this, either. After what you accidentally put him through, he deserves a straight answer. You settle on the truth. Mostly. “Turns out her mom and my dad fucked.”

Eridan raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Nepeta found a ton of old letters between them- more like sexts, really. It was grosser than anything I ever could’ve imagined. So it took a while to go through all of it, find anything we wanted to keep, and then compartmentalize the shit out of almost everything we’d read.”

He laughs.

* * *

 

A few days later, another murder victim is discovered during office hours, and Nepeta, after consulting with the gods of journalism, says that it’s best you take an unmarked car. As the only Medium native with a driver’s license on the investigation team, you are unanimously chosen to drive. This attack happened in one of the more residential, safe parts of town as opposed to the downtown area, which is relatively uncommon at this point.

Rose rides shotgun, and Nepeta is sandwiched between Terezi and Jane in the backseat, listening to music through her earbuds. A few minutes’ drive takes you to the more white-picket-fence part of Medium. Townhouses become detached houses, typically wood. The slight smell of downtown fades. Eventually, you reach an intersection just as the light turns red, and you stop the car.

As it happens, you’ve stopped in front of a ruin. On the corner to your left sit the charred remains of a house, long abandoned. The door is boarded up, not that it does much good; parts of the structure have been reduced to a blackened skeleton, other parts look brittle, peeling, almost flaking off. Most of the windows have been blown out or broken, leaving empty frames, and the couple panes that are left are grimy and discolored. The few feet of unburnt wood paneling on the exterior, too, are off-color; the shallow crevices between the often-bent panels look dirty. The parts of the yard that aren’t still claimed by burn scars or cracked cement paths are overgrown with brambles and weeds. By some miracle, the facade of the beleaguered house still stands, and it looks like there might even be some structure or items still inside. A few roofing tiles and splintered wooden beams are scattered on the ground around it, however. The house, or what’s left of it, casts a shadow over the street, even though it’s almost noon.

Teenagers in Medium, you know, dare each other to approach the house at night- or in the day, even. They smear their faces with charcoal from the paneling and wear it like a badge of honor until harried parents get them to wash it off with a furtive look over each shoulder. Rarely is one ever brave enough to step inside; although many are unaware of the house’s significance, it’s difficult not to feel a deep uneasiness, discomfort, or even fear in its presence. The teenagers tell each other stories about how the house is haunted, how there’s a little girl or an old man or a baby doll who sometimes scurries across the creaky floorboards or stands in the window. The superstitious say that the charred walls remember the tragedies that lived within them.

You glance at the ruin just for a moment, and see that _someone_ has gotten up the courage to vandalize it; a dark purple :o) has been emblazoned across the front. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles whitening. Cars speed by in front of you; no one looks at the house. You wait for the traffic light to turn green.

“What is that house?” Jane asks, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“What house?” you and Terezi both counter, although you for one know exactly what house she’s referring to. Rose gives you an odd look.

“The imposing-looking burnt one on the left,” Jane replies. You check the rearview mirror; Terezi’s eyebrows lift up slightly, and she looks a little uneasy. She’s not going to say anything, naturally, and she has an excuse, she can say she doesn’t know what Jane’s talking about. Nepeta is still unresponsive, maybe on purpose.

You shrug. “An old burned house.”

“How long has it been like that?” Rose asks. “It looks as though it’s been abandoned for a decade- why hasn’t the city done anything about it?”

“What do I look like, your personal tour guide? I can’t tell you why the city does any of the things it does.”

“Well, do you know how long ago it was burned? Does anyone own it?” She knows you’re deflecting, she can tell. It’s futile, with Rose.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Yes, someone owns it?”

“I said yeah.”

“Who?”

“Technically, me.” The light turns green; you step on the gas, eager to get out of the shadow of that damned house. Terezi and Nepeta give little sighs.

“What?” Rose and Jane ask in unison.

“You fucking heard me,” you growl. “Yeah, it burned down almost twenty years ago. Yeah, I was raised in that house. Yeah, I’ve got the deeds somewhere. Yeah, my brother was murdered in that house. Yeah, that house was set on fire by some fucking juggalos on the last day I ever saw my brother or my father or my grandmother. Yeah, I haven’t set foot in it since and no, I’m not damn well going to. I’ve made it clear that if the city wants to tear it down, they have my fucking blessing, but apparently nobody wants the bad juju or whatever. No further questions, _thanks._ ”

The rest of the ride is spent in silence.

* * *

 A few more days after that is Eridan’s bachelor party. Around sunset, Gamzee comes to pick him up. Eridan gives you a kiss and heads out, telling you he’ll be spending the evening at the nightclub called Derse.

This is all well and good, until it starts to get properly dark out and you realize once again that you’ve been left utterly alone in this big, shadowy house, and this time even Gamzee can’t come and soothe you. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve felt this familiar creeping paranoia in the nape of your neck, this acute awareness of your inability to see what’s behind your head, this looming and inexhaustible silence challenged only by the quiet rush of your pulse in your ears. It’s been a few weeks since this has happened, but you slip easily back into your old routine, getting up from the couch and turning off the TV, drawing the curtains, cutting the lights. Walking silently, cautiously through the old house of Daniel Ampora, between walls whispering reminders that you don’t belong here and walls breathing warnings that you shouldn’t be here. Drawing the curtains and cutting the lights, locking the windows and doors. Mirrors spook you, shadows stalk you; every creak of the house settling and whistle of the wind along the sides is a tall, dark intruder, less of an intruder than you, face painted grinning white and club in hand. You make it to your bedroom, slowly approaching the nightstand, then pull open the nightstand drawer and grab your knife from it in a flurry of desperate motion.

You return to the living room and sit on the floor, in a corner obscured from the doorway, breathing a soft prayer to some deity you don’t believe in. It would really suck for Eridan to come home from his bachelor party and find his fiance dead. The house feels amused by your antics, your fear, your useless ritual of security. These houses, you realize, yours and Nepeta’s and Eridan’s and so many others, are the living scars that Alternia left on Medium. Some strange, whispering tumors that remain despite these ten years of chemotherapy. Part of you wants to stand up to the house, to show it not to underestimate you, to attack upholstery and drywall alike with your mean little knife. But the ceiling looks down on you and the doors you locked with your shaking hands keep you here, below an attic full of guns and blood, and the walls murmur that this is no place for you, so you pull your knees to your chest and screw your eyes shut.

Really, it was ridiculous to imagine that Alternia died with its leaders, that it was eradicated forever, without hope of reanimation. That was never going to happen, you realize. Not while these walls still stand, rife with memories and ringing with ghosts of the tragedies that lived within them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY. That was an experience to write.  
> As always, if there's anything you have questions on or want to learn more about, contact me at eridans-secret-account on Tumblr.  
> Next time: Rose and Karkat have a conversation, and Karkat has a party of his own.


	18. The Alternian Medium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat deals with a number of problems poorly.

An hour passes, maybe an hour and a half. You do not move. The house settles around you. For a while, you counted the rhythmic ticks of the miniature grandfather clock in the guest bedroom upstairs, quiet yet echoing clearly through the silence of the house. You managed to reach 2,213 before it too became the voice of the house, filling you with a clear, cavernous mantra of  _ you don’t belong, you shouldn’t be here, no place for you _ . So you moved for the first time, pressing your hands over your ears. You sit in the corner, back to the whispering wall, eyes screwed shut, hands covering ears, withdrawing and withdrawing against the empty pressure of the house. When you try to murmur some secular prayer, you find that you don’t have enough breath in your lungs, not that your voice could push through this silence anyways. Still, your lips form desperate words, soundless and utterly illogical but with no less conviction.

I don’t want to die here.

Die here, die here, echoes the muffled clock, echoes your pulse in iambs of blood not worthy to enter this house in anything but a stained mason jar.

I don’t want to die here.

You’re losing it, what few ounces of logic you have left tell you. This house is so big and you are so very, very small, knees to chest and palms to ears. You’re fucking losing it.

I don’t want to die here.

The deja vu is almost as overwhelming as the fear you’ve wrapped yourself in. These words carry no weight, they never did, but you’ve nearly blocked everything else out, withdrawing and withdrawing until all that’s left is the muscle memory living coiled in your jawline.

I don’t want to die here.

Knees to chest, hands to ears, your lips curled desperately around nothing, over and over and over. Eyes screwed shut, back to the wall, you mouthed your nonsense prayer in the slightest hope of some comfort. Doors locked, windows latched, curtains drawn, lights cut, and you motionless in a corner. You’d done everything he’d told you to do, and he still wasn’t back. He’d said he’d be back, he’d said it would be okay. The house shifted, uneasy; someone was laughing outside. You pressed your hands harder against the sides of your head.

I don’t want to die here.

It didn’t matter that your eyes were closed. The scene that lay before you was burned into the backs of your eyelids, pushing itself into your focus every few seconds. A flash of red, a ridiculous sweater, stained a darker scarlet in places. A face you were already training yourself to forget.

I don’t want to die here.

Hot tears escaped from your eyelids, streaking your dirty face. At least like this, eyes closed and ears covered, you wouldn’t know when they came for you. At least you could pretend this wasn’t happening. You didn’t know why it was taking them so long to come; you’d heard them circling the house, laughing, calling out to you like it was a game of hide-and-seek. 

I don’t want to die here.

Where was your dad? He’d said he would be back, he’d promised. He’d promised it would be alright. On some level, you registered the smell of smoke growing ever stronger. You didn’t know, you didn’t care, you were too utterly overwhelmed in every possible way to have any mental or emotional reaction to anything that happened now. All you could do was curl up ever tighter and mouth the same weightless words.

I don’t want to die here.

“ _Karkat!_ ” shouted your father.  Your eyes fly open, catapulting you forward almost twenty years, out of that damned house and back into this one. You’re almost-  _ almost _ \- glad to be here.

This is bad. This is bad. You can’t go down this road. It’s enough to get you up off your ass and reaching for your phone.

She’s available, thank god, and readily agrees to come over. You hang up and suddenly rush upstairs, grabbing the old key to the attic trapdoor from where Eridan hides it in your room and using it to lock up the attic, just in case she wants a tour.

* * *

A few minutes later, there’s a clean rap on your front door. Even though you know it’s her, she has to knock again before you can muster the courage and motivation to get out of the corner you once again settled into and make your way to the door, checking the peephole before you turn the deadlock, free the chain, and open the door.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hello, Karkat,” Rose echoes, stepping inside. She stops in the foyer, letting you close the door behind her, and takes in the view. Her analytic gaze shifts from the dead lights to the drawn curtains to the shallow, pale pink scratches on your forearms to the knife hooked in your belt loop. “You’re paranoid,” she surmises after a moment. “You are afraid of being attacked while alone, and- you had a flashback to a time in your childhood when you were helpless, likely in which you were being targeted by Alternia.”

You blink. “Uh, yeah.”

She nods thoughtfully, looking around and heading for your living room, flipping on lights as she goes. “Quite frankly, I don’t know what to tell you. While this is clearly paranoia in its own right, your fears are entirely founded.” She pulls a simple little armchair towards the couch, setting it at an angle that feels somehow universally suggestive of a therapist’s office, and sits in it. “However, I might say that the curtains and the lights will be of little help if you are indeed being targeted.”

You follow her into the living room and sit down on your couch, facing her, shoulders turned forward and in on yourself. “Yeah, that’s true. It’s just an old habit.” She quirks an eyebrow and you sigh. “When I was a kid, when shit was getting bad, my dad taught me to do it whenever I was alone in the house.”

The ticking of the upstairs clock is audible for a moment as Rose’s eyes widen just barely. “Ah.” She blinks. “Trained habits of that sort can store a lot of kinetic memory, easily pulling one back to the place where one was when they were learned or used. Engaging this protocol likely makes you far more susceptible to such flashbacks.”

“Well I’m not going to stop doing it,” you say almost defensively. “It’s like- bomb drills in the Cold War, you know, how if you’re getting nuked you hide under a table, not because you think it’ll save you from being instantly vaporized but because you have to fucking do  _ something _ .”

“I never said that you should break the habit.”

You fall silent. Rose’s gaze continues to sweep the walls and furnishings thoughtfully. “This house is eerie as fuck,” she notes after a while.

“No shit,” you practically scoff. “-I mean, it’s a really nice house. There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s just…”

“Something about it,” she finishes for you, nodding slightly. “This was Daniel Ampora’s house, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I think it’s been in Eridan’s family for a few generations.”

“Mm, of course. Do you suppose some of his belongings could still be here? It could be very--”

You shake your head. “Not here, no. Eridan threw out all his dad’s shit when he inherited this place-- and I mean  _ all  _ of it. Guns, computers, clothes, belongings, journals, letters, pictures, furniture, decor. Seriously, he replaced most of the furniture, reupholstered most of the rest, redid the kitchen, a ton of the flooring, the interior design- repainted like half the damn house.” Parts of this are bullshit, but they’re easy bullshit; it’s the story Eridan used to tell you. “Then when I moved in I went through inside and out looking for anything that might’ve been hidden. At one point I figured out that the dimensions of the pantry were fucked up and I got so convinced that there was some secret hiding spot I smashed through the wall with a hammer. Turned out the big old fancy hot water tank was tucked away inside the wall there. I broke the water heater and the tank and dented like five pipes. Eridan was pissed as hell.”

She laughs. “That’s unfortunate for us, but it is certainly understandable that he would want nothing to do with his father after all that.”

“Yeah.” It would certainly be understandable, were it the truth. Which reminds you-- you open your mouth- then close it again. You pause for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “Why do people do this?” you end up blurting out. “Why-how could anyone do this shit?”

“I assume you’re asking what I consider the impetus for participation in Alternia?” You nod. She takes a deep breath and settles in against the back of her chair. “That’s a good question, and one with a good, albeit long, answer.

“You probably don’t know this, but I actually requested that Jane and I be assigned to this case. I did that because the situation here is a remarkable phenomenon, from a psychological perspective.

“Naturally, after Alternia’s original downfall, psychologists and pathologists were left with a myriad of questions; why’s and how’s of all shapes and sizes. Questions like these, their theoretical and factual answers, and so many smaller pieces of the puzzle that were case studies unto themselves, eventually were analyzed and organized to form the basis of a registered phenomenon known colloquially as the Alternian Medium.

“The Alternian Medium details the psychological, pathological, and sociological causes and symptoms of Alternia’s rise to power. It covers things such as the uniquely united individualism and separatism present in Medium, plus the casually aggressive normalcy here- both societal coping mechanisms developed to deal with Alternia’s cruelty, violence, and invasive world order. Stuff like that.

“Now, I am here as a detective and scientist both. I’ve been recording and writing theories on the Alternian Medium and its contemporary presence in Medium. My theory at this point is that what we are dealing with here is not addressed by the animus of most of Alternia’s original members, but by a more particular and complex case study from that era, known as Kurloz Makara.” Your eyes widen. “If you remember, Kurloz Makara posed one of the most difficult decisions in the parade of Alternia court cases.”

“Yeah,” you say. Gamzee doesn’t talk much about his brother. “He was the fucked up one, right?”

She nods. “He did unspeakable things, but it was nearly impossible to tell whether he was a villain or a victim. There was ample conclusive evidence that pointed towards indoctrination, conditioning, and brainwashing by Alternia. They worked to turn him into a perfect, violent, unquestioning fanatic- and the effect on him was exacerbated by some undetermined pre-existing mental conditions making him more susceptible to such psychological molding. As far as we know, he was something of a guinea pig as far as the more intense and invasive forms of conditioning- certainly, none of the other children of the Big Three suffered so much- but it’s possible that the system was perfected and used on other highblooded you, to lesser degrees or with more precision. Even without such conditioning, though, the more passive or insidious manipulation was omnipresent in Medium. Gripped by the Alternian Medium, the town as a whole accepted life under Alternia, treated it as though it was how life was meant to be as a coping mechanism. Children grew up under that new world order.

“So ten years after Alternia’s downfall, the Alternian Medium remains, leaving a seemingly clear path for a revival of Alternia. For those who have known little more than Alternia, life without that world order can seem alien. Those youth who were manipulated and indoctrinated are now adults. Some, like your Eridan, who by circumstance of nature or nurture were not so successfully and fundamentally indoctrinated, are still acclimating to life lived without and even in opposition to the ‘natural laws’ they were trained to uphold, but though old habits die hard they understand that Alternia was in the wrong. Others, however, whose psyches were successfully shaped by Alternia, have now- I believe- become its leaders and members in turn, joined by those few and minor old hats who escaped discovery. They do this because it’s what they were trained to do, because it’s all they know and it’s how they believe the world is meant to be.” She stops then, watching you take in all that information. 

It’s good news, you guess. Part of you- a considerable part- was afraid she’d say that they were all just pure evil. This is more or less what you’ve been telling yourself ever since you went up into that godforsaken attic for the first time. That leads you to the other question you have, the one that everything seems to depend on. “Do you think-- is it possible to fix them? Like, snap them out of it or whatever?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Kurloz was sent to a mental health center instead of prison, if you remember. He went through years of nearly every rehabilitation method in the book.” She pauses.

“Did it work?” you prod, a little knot forming in your chest.

“Well, when a therapist prompted him to talk about his thoughts and feelings he bit off his own tongue.”

“Eugh.”

“He was released a few years ago, but sources vary on whether he was truly rehabilitated.”

You don’t know what to make of that. “But nobody else got fucked up as bad as him. Wouldn’t it be better, then?”

“I don’t know, Karkat. Certainly, it would depend on the level of conditioning and fanaticism. It would then depend upon what kind of person they were; blind followers and narcissists would be more difficult. Likely, the best strategy would be subtly prompting them to autonomously question and examine Alternian ethics and cruelty. Perhaps somehow showing them that life could be good, even when lived in opposition to their world order. The end goal would be breaking down their learned worldview.”

You nod, thinking about how you could manage that, then remember yourself and shrug. “Well, I guess when we get these fuckers behind bars we can find out.”

Rose smiles. “My thoughts exactly.”

* * *

A few days later is your bachelor party. Nepeta rolls up to your house around sunset and drives you to Prospit Comics and Games.

* * *

“Karkat, don’t fight the Tiefling villager.”

“I’ll fight the Tiefling villager if I want to fight the fucking Tiefling villager, Rose. You can’t stop me.”

“Very well,” she says ominously. “Roll.”

“You’re going to get us all killed in this dumbass nerd game, Karkles.”

“Shut up, Terezi.” You grab the die, shake it, and roll. It skitters across the table before teetering on a single point for what seems like an eternity, then falls. You slam your fists on the table triumphantly. “ _ Ha! _ 18! Take that, you cryptic piece of shit!”

Gamzee claps you on the shoulder. Rose sighs. “You beat the living hell out of the innocent villager,” she narrates. “He spits blood in your face as a final, heroic act of defiance and then slumps to the ground, dead.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “What the fuck?” you cry, indignant. “What about the directions?”

Rose gives you a coy smile. “Oh, dear. You never specified that you were trying to get information out of him.”

“You fucking--”

“It’s alright,” Kanaya interrupts. “My character in this game now heals the ‘Tiefling villager’ and asks politely if he would please inform us as to the whereabouts of the ruin we seek.” She smiles at Rose.

“He profusely thanks his savior and tells you it’s five leagues to the west,” Rose says immediately.

“Whoa, what?” you counter. “How the fuck was that so easy for her! I rolled an overwhelming success and you still fucked me over, but you don’t even make Kanaya roll to bring a dead guy back to life and win his undying gratitude? How is that fair!”

“It isn’t my fault that your aunt is far more attractive than you,” Rose replies simply. You open and close your mouth a few times. “Nepeta?”

“AC tells her companions that there is no time to waste! She jumps on her horse and charges bravely ahead…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the wedding,,,,


	19. But Tonight We Dance (Dearly Beloved)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody loves a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chosen venue is Los Willows.  
> Check out the reception playlist here: http://8tracks.com/hemotyping/fix-you-eridan-karkat-s-wedding-playlist/

“Okay,” you say. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“Nah, it ain’t,” he jokes. 

“Yes, it is. If you leave me at the altar I’m going to smack the shit out of you.”

He laughs, and then just half-smiles down at you in that quintessentially Eridan way. “I ain’t gonna bail on you,” he says softly after a moment. You flush and mumble something like ‘you better fucking not’.

Suddenly, you’re interrupted by someone banging on the side of the car. “Quit lollygagging around, fuckos!” comes Terezi’s voice. “Get out here!”

“We’re coming! Calm your tits,” you yell back. You give Eridan a kiss as Terezi informs you how absolutely fucking stoic her tits are right now, then he opens the door on his side and you slide out after him into the cool evening air.

“So who’s in charge a’ this, again?” he asks as soon as you close the car door behind you. 

“I am, although the site coordinator will be taking over once we begin,” says Kanaya, stepping forward. “I suppose now that you two are here we ought to get started. Eridan, if you would please go with Gamzee to the gazebo. We’ll follow you in a few minutes, I think.”

“Alright,” Eridan says. He grabs Gamzee by the arm and leads him in the direction Kanaya gestured towards.

Now, Kanaya turns to you. “Karkat- well, I believe we’re actually still waiting--”

“Nope,” you interrupt. “He’s here.” You direct her attention towards the sleek black Jaguar XJ pulling into the lot. Sure enough, the Jaguar comes to a smooth stop nearby, and out of the driver’s-side door climbs none other than Jack Noir himself, wearing a sharp black suit and hat as usual. He makes his way over to where you, Kanaya, Terezi, and Nepeta are standing. “You’re late,” you tell him reproachfully.

“Never been late to anything in my life, kid,” he replies. “Clocks are just early. Fuck clocks.”

“Fuck  _ you _ , old man.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He ruffles your hair roughly. “Jack Noir,” he says, extending a hand to Kanaya. “You look a helluva lot like yer mother.”

Kanaya’s eyes widen slightly, and she shakes his hand. “Thank you. Now, um, if you’ll all follow me, we should head for the gazebo…”

Nepeta follows at Kanaya’s heels; Terezi hooks a finger through Nepeta’s belt loop to guide her. You and Jack lag a few paces behind, talking softly.

“Can’t wait fer this rehearsal shit ta be over with so I can get my hands on some of that free alcohol you promised you’d have here,” he grumbles.

“It’s not  _ free, _ Jack. I’m paying for it.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t payin’ fer it, which is free enough ta me.”

You sigh. “Is anyone else coming?” you ask. “You said in your RSVP you weren’t sure.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Droog’ll be here tomorrow. Told ‘im what ya said about the FBI dame what remembers us from Chicago, an’ he wants ta be here ta manage the situation if there’s managin’ ta be done. We just busted Hearts outta some dingy Minnesota slammer, though, so he’s layin’ low fer now, an’ I don’t trust Deuce not ta blow our cover at the first opportunity.”

“I don’t blame you,” you say frankly. “Agent Lalonde shouldn’t be too much of a concern, though. She’s pretty obsessed with Kanaya at the moment; if she starts getting after you, you can just flag Kanaya down and she’ll forget you’re there.”

* * *

 

The rehearsal goes pretty well. Once or twice, someone has to remind the flower kids (John and Jade, a couple of Jane’s little cousins she managed to scrounge up from Seattle for you) what they’re supposed to be doing, and Nepeta actually misplaces the block that she’s using as the practice rings, but that’s about it. You tell yourself firmly not to lose your shit. It’s out of your hands now.

When you get to the part of the skim-through of the ceremony where Kanaya says she’ll present the couple, Eridan leans down and kisses you, which makes you feel a lot better.

* * *

 

For the rehearsal dinner, you all head over to the pavilion-like dining hall where you’ll have the reception. 

“So,  Eridan ,” Jack prompts, looking across you at your fiance, “what do you do?”

Eridan looks up, bewildered. “Huh?”

“Your job, man,” you clarify.

His eyes widen. “Oh, uh-- well, it’s kinda complicated…” You don’t really listen to what he’s saying; your attention is more caught by this weird trout dish and Eridan’s weird body language. He has a long/short, uncomfortable conversation with your kind-of-dad about work and life, in which Jack reminds you of Terezi in an interrogation room and Eridan reminds you of a deer caught in Jack’s headlights. This kind of makes sense to you, because Jack can be intimidating as fuck when he wants to be, but Eridan’s reaction is a little bit uncharacteristic of him. (You will later find out that Jack has previously taken the liberty of contacting Eridan to let him know that if he ever hurts you, Jack will personally disembody a certain part of Eridan that you’re pretty sure Eridan would like to keep.)

The rehearsal dinner lasts an hour or so, during which Rose, Kanaya’s date, comes over and introduces herself to Jack, causing you a little bit of stress. Otherwise, you actually kind of enjoy yourself. Whenever there’s a lull in the conversation, Gamzee starts rambling about something or other until another discussion topic is found. Although right-handed, Eridan suffers himself to hold his fork with his left, because he refuses to let go of your hand. This is particularly appreciated because his resulting ineptitude with silverware gives you something to make fun of him for. You laugh a total of thirteen times before you lose count, and he leans over to kiss you on the cheek almost every time. It’s a good evening.

Eventually, people start finishing up and making their way towards the guest bed and breakfast not too far in the distance. You and Eridan are some of the last people left in the pavilion by the time you figure you can’t put it off much longer. Together, hand in hand, you push open the door and walk out into the October night.

As soon as you step outside, though, Eridan makes a weird, alarmed sound and is no longer beside you, and you feel someone- decidedly not Eridan- grab you from behind and lift you up off the ground. Naturally, you do the only logical thing you can think of in this situation: you scream and kick your legs around in the air.

“Ouch! Karkat, please,” says Kanaya in your ear. Although your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, so you can’t see much, you can hear Terezi, Nepeta, and Rose laughing their asses off. You stop kicking and screaming. 

“What the fuck was that for, you deplorable goddamn assholes,” you demand, your voice a good octave higher than usual.

Kanaya sets you down. You find that you’re fairly far from the pavilion now; you didn’t seem to notice her walking amidst all your flailing. 

“You and Eridan aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, smartass,” says Terezi.

“It’s bad luck,” Nepeta confirms.

“Okay, that’s bullshit.”

“Tradition,” Rose corrects you.

“Still!” you cry, indignant. “It’s not grounds for abduction!”

In the darkness, you can sort of make out Kanaya shrugging. “It was funny,” she admits.

“So, what? You all just stood outside the pavilion, waiting for me and Eridan to come out so you could carry me away? That’s fucked up.”

“I think what you mean is,  _ totally worth it _ ,” Terezi cackles.

You growl and pull out your phone, turning on the flashlight to guide you towards your villa.

* * *

 

“Karkat,” says your aunt patiently. “Karkat. Karkat.”

You open your eyes and squint blearily up at her. “What the shit are you doing in my bedroom.”

“It’s currently ten a.m.,” she informs you. “If you intend to have breakfast before you start preparing, you should do so now.”

“Oh, _shit_.” You jolt upright. “I’m getting married today.”

She laughs softly from her perch on the side of your bed. “Yes, you are. There’s food downstairs. Let me know when you’ve finished breakfast so that I can begin working on you.”

“Gee, Kanaya, are you sure I’m allowed downstairs?” you ask sarcastically. “I don’t know, Eridan might see me through a window. It’s a pretty big risk.”

She sighs fondly. “I’m not going to talk to you any more until you’ve ingested some form of caffeine.”

* * *

 

You’re pretty sure Morning Karkat is secretly a prophet.

As you dump the contents of your coffee filter into the little sink, you hear the sound of someone tapping on glass. Holding a croissant between your teeth, you follow the sound to a window and pull open the blinds to reveal none other than your very own fiance, Eridan Ampora. You slide open the window.

“Well, if it isn’t the cat that ate the fucking canary,” you say, removing the pastry from your mouth and resting your arm on the windowsill.

He grins at you. “How’s house arrest?”

“It’s hell, man. I’ve been trying to get this ugly-ass ankle bracelet off all day,” you reply, playing along. “Really, though, you’re not supposed to be here. Bad luck or whatever.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. I jus’ wanted to see you. Climbed out my window an’ everythin’.”

“I can’t blame you, I know how glorious I look in the morning.” You’re a little uncomfortable. While you’re definitely not superstitious, you don’t really want to chance any bad luck in your relationship with Eridan. “Seriously, Nepeta’s going to find you and beat you up or something.”

“Don’t care.” He rests his forearms on the windowsill as well, arms crossed. You take a bite of your croissant. “You feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah. I’m-- actually feeling pretty damn good about this. You?”

You didn’t notice that he was worried until you see the soft relief spelled out all over him when he hears that. His smile becomes much easier, more genuine, more contagious, and you decide that nothing that feels this good can be bad luck. “Me too.”

The two of you smile at each other for a few moments, then you carefully lean out the window and kiss him.

* * *

 

Three hours spent in the care of your fashionista aunt later, you are deemed ready. There are a lot of things you could’ve thought about during that time, but you didn’t. It wasn’t like you were avoiding them, it was just like they didn’t really seem important at the time. Alternia, you decided, is something you can worry about when you’re back in Medium. Right now, you’re happy.

With Kanaya’s metaphorical stamp of approval on your clothes (white tuxedo, black collar, trim, tie, and pants), hair (not entirely tamed- you’re pretty sure that’s impossible- but worked to a state of controlled chaos), and makeup, you head for the gazebo. Accompanying you are Terezi, wearing her police uniform, and Nepeta, in an olive green lace-top dress. It’s a nice day, warm and sunny- but not too warm- and you thank god for that.

You are led to the gazebo. The only other people nearby are staff putting the final touches on the decorations. Once you’re in the gazebo, you and Nepeta go around closing all the curtains, then you sit down on one of the little couches and open Neko Atsume.

A few minutes later, Nepeta wiggles in between you and the arm of the couch, kicking off her flats, and rests her head on your shoulder. She’s been way more comfortably affectionate with you since the fiasco with the letters; you figure that’s understandable. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Everybody keeps asking me that,” you complain. “You all are going to psych me out, and then I’ll run for the hills when the time comes and it’ll be all your fault.”

“It’s a fair question,” she says. “Today is a pretty furricking big day for you!”

You nod a little. “I feel really good, honestly. I don’t have any reservations about this. Everything has been so confusing and stressful recently, but this shit? This is good. I’ve been waiting for this for a while now, this is going to be a good day.”

She smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Just don’t fuck it up, Vantas,” Terezi teases from another couch.

* * *

 

Another half hour after that, a curtain is pulled aside and Jack slips through, dressed to the nines (slightly more than usual) in a dark bowler hat and all-black suit accented with a sharp white tie.

“Hey, Jack,” you say.

“Hey, kid.” He walks over to where Nepeta has fallen asleep on you and shakes your hand, then sits down nearby.

* * *

 

An hour passes. You hear people begin to show up outside the gazebo, recognizing the voices of Eridan, Gamzee, Kanaya, Rose, Jane, and more. You do start to hyperventilate slightly.

At one point, Nepeta opens her eyes, yawns in a way extremely reminiscent of a cat, and gets up. Outside the curtains, you can hear soft music starting. Shortly after, the site coordinator pokes her head in to tell you that you’ve got about half an hour before the ceremony begins.

You’re not ready. Are you ready? Of course you’re ready, fuck you. Typical Karkat, always second-guessing yourself like the immense asshole you are. It’s a fucking wonder that Eridan wants to marry you. Does he want to marry you? Really? Yes, he does, he wouldn’t have gone this far if he didn’t. But--

You slap yourself in the face. What a dick. Jack gives you a strange look.

“Karkat, did you just hit yourself?” asks Terezi.

“Yes,” Nepeta answers for you. 

“Typical,” Terezi snorts.

* * *

 

Not long after that, Jane delivers the flower children, telling them to be good before heading off to find her seat.

You check your watch. 4:00- official start time. There are fifteen minutes left before you, Karkat Vantas, walk down the aisle. You feel lightheaded, kind of in a giddy way, but mostly not. What if you pass out? What if Eridan forgets his vows? What if you forget your vows? What if Terezi trips and falls on her way down the aisle and starts bleeding everywhere? What if something-  _ anything- _ goes wrong? You begin to consider ditching this whole wedding thing, just because that way there’s no chance of fucking it up. Because you fuck everything up.

Out of nowhere, Nepeta taps you on the shoulder and holds out a paper bag. You accept it with a grateful expression, hold it to your mouth, and take deep breaths.

* * *

 

The music shifts.  _ Oh god. _ Five minutes.

In your peripheral vision, you notice Terezi flag Nepeta down and say something to her. Nepeta then guides Terezi over to you.

“Hey, dork,” Terezi says. “It’s gonna be fine. This is going to be the best day of your miserable life, even if not everything goes perfectly to plan. It’ll be perfect either way.” You look at her, more than a little surprised. “‘Cause- you know I don’t see much anymore, but back when I could see, I saw how you and Eridan looked at each other. You could fall and split your face open and bleed all over your fancy tux during the vows and it would still be perfect. So stop fucking whining.”

“I’m not really whining--” is the first thing you say.

“Your soul is whining.”

“Uh, thanks,” you say slowly, bewildered but no less genuine. “I- I don’t know what to say-”

“Don’t say anything,” she replies, straightening her uniform. “The great Terezi Pyrope does not give romantic pep talks.”

The music shifts again. The coordinator slips in and tells you all to get ready to walk. Somehow, you feel less anxious.

Nepeta leans forward and kisses your forehead, then she and Terezi approach the curtains. You and Jack get up, dust yourselves off- generally prepare to do this thing.

After around two minutes of peeking through the curtains, the coordinator gives Nepeta and Terezi the go-ahead, and they slip out to join Kanaya, Gamzee, and Eridan, whom you assume are already at the altar. Waiting for you.  John and Jade head out a few seconds after Terezi, and then it’s almost your turn. You’re doing this. Together, you and Jack approach the curtains, waiting for the coordinator’s signal.

At this point, Jack Noir, the man who took care of you for the second decade of your life and the only person vaguely resembling a father figure whose first name you can even remember, angles himself slightly towards you and claps you on the back. “If yer dad was here ta see this, he’d be damn proud of ya, kid,” he says.

You look him dead in the eye. “My dad  _ is _ here.”

For what you’re pretty sure is the first time as far as you’ve witnessed, Jack Noir smiles. He pulls you into a quick hug, then clears his throat and pats you on the shoulder.

And there’s the coordinator’s signal.

Jack gives you a look of  _ Are you ready?, _ then pushes through the curtain.

* * *

 

The first thing you notice is that it’s bright as fuck. It takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change in lighting. 

And then you notice everything around you, everything in front of you, and you can’t help but smile.

All your friends are laid out before you, the sky is a soft blue marbled with wispy white clouds and reflected perfectly in the lake behind the altar. At the end of the aisle stand Kanaya, in a striking black dress and flawless hairstyle, and Eridan.

You forget everything else, in the most ridiculously cliche way possible. God, you’re such a dumbass romantic. Your legs move on autopilot; you look at Eridan and he looks at you and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy and vaguely, you wonder whether you look just as stupid as he does. But he doesn’t look stupid, he looks beautiful, he looks fucking radiant somehow in a black tuxedo with a rich violet vest and tie, and everything is a thousand times better than you possibly could have dreamed.

This was absolutely worth it.

It’s selfish, you know, but this is the best goddamn day of your life and everything leading up to it, no matter how shitty or morally precarious, was worth it. You might be a dick for thinking that, but right now, you don’t give a fuck. Everything is exactly how it’s meant to be, and you’re happier than you’ve ever been.

Somewhere along the line, you reach the end of the aisle. Jack lets go of your arm, and you reach out for Eridan’s. He takes your hand, gently tugging you into place, smiling like a  _ fucking idiot. _ You squeeze his hand and he mouths,  _ Think they’re watchin’ us?  _ You laugh softly in spite of yourself. 

“Dearly beloved,” Kanaya begins. For a moment, you wonder vaguely whether the Disciple’s words ring in Nepeta’s ears as they do yours.  _ I fear a day when you and I are gone, when Medium has utterly resigned and acclimated itself to these horrors, and tears are shed only and rarely at the loss of the most dearly beloved.  _ But the shadow is fleeting and quickly forgotten, and you exist purely in this moment.

You try to listen to Kanaya. You really do. You’re sure her words are beautiful-- but Eridan’s eyes are a thousand times more so and you’ve lost yourself in them entirely. Violet-blue, almost lilac, sparkling and highlighted by the reflection of the sky, the whole damn world in them and you’re so glad his vows are first because you would undoubtedly miss your cue. Any ounce of stage fright you might’ve had is gone- you’ve all but forgotten that anyone but Eridan exists; just you and Eridan under the white lattice and clear sky. His hands are warm and soft, whereas yours are probably sweaty and gross, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“ _ We chase the melodies that seem to find us _ ,” Kanaya recites, her voice careful and caring, and you partially register the reading. “ _ Until they’re finished songs and start to play.” _

This is the best day of your life.

“ _ When senseless acts of tragedy remind us _

_ That nothing here is promised, not one day.” _

He’s happier than you’ve ever seen him, and you’re happier than you’ve ever been.

_ This show is proof that history remembers _

_ We lived through times when hate and fear seemed stronger;” _

You can feel his pulse under your fingers, slow and steady in the way it gets when everything is right and everything is going to be okay

_ “We rise and fall and light from dying embers,” _

and he’s content and you’re safe. In contrast, your pulse rushes in your ears in the way it does

“ _ remembrances that hope and love last longer,” _

when you had no idea life could be this good and your goddamn fucked up blood cells need to move faster

_ “And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love-” _

because there’s not enough oxygen to go around and you’re forgetting how to breathe.

_ “-cannot be killed or swept aside.” _

* * *

 

His nose healed just slightly crooked, you notice, and it makes his smile that much more lopsided. It’s absolutely a good thing that his vows are first, because you don’t even notice that his cue was given until about half a second later when he realizes it himself and begins.

“I promise to always love you, even when you fill my house with trashy romance novels,” he says, and you shake your head a little, grinning like a total dumbass. “I promise to take care of you when you’re sick, as long as you do the same later ‘cause you always end up sneezing in my face.

“I promise to only bring you to boring work parties when there’s enough complimentary alcohol to make it interestin’.

“I promise to mostly stop eatin’ ice cream at one in the morning.

“I promise to bring you bagels at work when you’re havin’ a rough day.

“I promise to protect an’ support you with everything I am,” he continues, his voice shifting almost unnoticeably, “I promise to never take advantage of you or take you for granted.

“I promise to never go vegan,” he adds, and you snort audibly. He seems encouraged by that. “I’ll  _ probably  _ be faithful.

“I will never stop complainin’ when you drool on my pillow.

“I will fall in love with you all over again every morning when I open my eyes.

“And, uh, if you get sick a’ me, that sucks for you because I plan to keep followin’ you around ‘til my legs don’t work, an’ then you just watch me make thirty-five miles an hour in a wheelchair. ‘Cause-” He shrugs a little. “I love you, an’- I’m gonna stick with you until the end of me.” 

Oh, fuck. You’re laughing, slightly, but you’re also crying, and Eridan seems to be done which means it’s your turn.  With impeccable timing as usual, Kanaya turns to you. “Karkat?”

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter. You sniffle and clear your throat, turning your face away from the audience and momentarily letting go of Eridan’s hands as you try to regain your composure. Eridan reaches out and wipes one escaped tear from your cheek, which makes you cry more and sort of push him away. “Shi-shit, gimme a second.”

Once you’ve pulled yourself together, you straighten up and take his hands again as he tries not to laugh at you too much. Kanaya asks if you’re ready, and you nod.

“Okay, first of all,” you begin aggressively, “I don’t drool on your pillow. You drool on your pillow and blame it on me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it--” he interrupts.

“You drool on your pillow and you’re interrupting my vows. We both--”

“I do fuckin’ not, an’ your vows deserved to be interrupted. I can’t  _ believe _ \--”

“You come here,  _ unannounced _ , on the  _ day of my daughter’s wedding _ \--”

“Karkat, please,” says Kanaya patiently. You both fall silent.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, flushing, as Eridan grins at you. “ _ Anyways _ . I promise to love and cherish you, no matter how many History Channel documentaries you make me watch.

“I promise to stand by you, whatever comes.

“I promise never to turn my back on you and never to turn against you.

“I promise--” You pause and squint at nothing in particular. Eridan lifts an eyebrow slightly. “Uh, I promise, uh. Shit.” Eridan starts to laugh. You glare at the air over his shoulder for a few more seconds to no avail. “Well, I promise to be a better husband than I am a groom, apparently.”  You start laughing quietly, too. Normally, you would have passed out by now, but here you are, about to have to ad-lib your goddamn wedding vows and actually almost okay with it. 

You take a deep breath, squeeze Eridan’s hands to make him stop giggling, and just fucking wing it.

“I promise to, um, stop leaving the car keys in the silverware drawer.

“I promise to make time for you. I promise to take care of you. I promise to… be there for you when you need me and protect you when I can.

“I promise to keep you honest. I promise to help you.” You’re pretty much blurting out whatever pops into your head at this point. “I promise to do everything I can to give you what you need.

“I, uh, I love you. I love you,” you repeat, because no matter how many times you say it, you can't get enough of the feeling of it on your tongue. “I love you and I’m going to keep loving you until the day I die, Eridan, because even though you’re a pretentious bastard with a god complex a mile wide and basically no concept of shame, you’re _my_ pretentious bastard. You’re good, and- and caring, and funny, and really bad at vacuuming and you whine about everything and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I have no fucking clue what I’m saying right now but I’m pretty sure Kanaya’s going to tell me to shut the hell up in about ten seconds, so I think what I’m getting at here is you’re an eccentric wonderful asshole and I’m a useless jaded romantic, and I think we might just be able to make this work.”

Eridan looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry in the best possible way, and he’s doing a little bit of both, which gives you a touch of selfish joy because at least you aren’t the only one making a fucking fool of yourself. You gently squeeze his hands, and he squeezes back.

Kanaya smiles, her eyes flicking from you to Eridan and back to you. “I now ask the best man and maid of honor to come forward with the rings.”

Gamzee approaches Eridan and Nepeta leads Terezi to you. Eridan lets go of your hands to receive the ring Gamzee holds out to him; you take the other ring from Terezi and let her clap you on the shoulder (or rather, the side of your arm) so hard you almost fall over, watching Gamzee hug the shit out of Eridan in your peripheral vision. Then, Gamzee and Terezi cross paths; Terezi goes to shake Eridan’s hand and you think you can hear your ribs crack as Gamzee pulls you into an embrace- then they continue to go their separate ways and it’s just you and your pretentious bastard.

“Karkat Vantas,” Eridan says, softly and clearly, taking your left hand in his, “with this ring, I join my life with yours.” He carefully slides the ring onto your fourth finger. Something in your ribcage kind of twists itself up in a gentle knot.

Everyone’s eyes fall on you, and you shift your grip on the little gold band in your palm. “Eridan Ampora,” you echo, moving your joined hands slightly, “with this ring, I thee wed.” You slip it onto his finger as he smiles down at you.

Kanaya’s black-painted lips curl further. She looks between the two of you, then says, “With the power vested in me by the town of Medium, California, I now pronounce you married.”

The world tilts on its axis, very slightly, and you find yourself making yet another vow- to Eridan, to the universe, you don’t know: you’re going to find a way to fix him. You won’t stop until you work this shit out, because now more than ever you _know_ that he’s worth it. You love him, and he loves you, and you’re going to find a way for that to be enough.

And then he kisses you, and you forget everything else.

* * *

 

The evening is full of laughter. Eridan kisses you a total of twenty-three times before you lose count, and you blatantly refuse to let go of him for even a moment until well into the reception. Gamzee gives a heartfelt yet funny speech that makes you start crying all over again, and hugs you both every chance he gets. Jack stands up and says that he figures Eridan might be okay, then sits back down. Through the reception, you sit next to Eridan, alternating between gently shoving him in the chest with your shoulder and pressing little kisses to the corner of his jaw as he talks softly to you about everything and nothing. He smells of Old Spice and some earthy thing, and every time you think you can’t get any happier he looks at you and smiles and proves you wonderfully wrong.

Together, you spend a lot of the evening watching the guests around you, talking and joking about their interactions. Rose and Kanaya are practically sitting on each other’s laps, and Rose is so preoccupied that she forgets to talk to you. Droog finally shows his face, coming up to your table to congratulate you and introduce himself to Eridan in his reserved way; twenty minutes later, you notice Aradia Megido talking to him animatedly. Every once in a while, Eridan notices Gamzee amiably infringing upon the personal space of some guest he has no earthly way of knowing, and whispers in your ear that your best man’s pushing drugs again. Terezi and Jack have a long conversation about something that seems to interest both of them considerably.

* * *

 

When the sky has gone dark, you and Eridan dance to The Only Exception by Paramore, which during the planning stages you warned him multiple times was a really fucking emo choice for the first dance, but he always talked about how he remembered it had been playing in the background of the coffee shop when he first asked you out and you eventually just let him do what he wanted. The two of you dance, only a little bit reminiscent of awkward middle schoolers trying to figure out how feet work, and you smile so much you think your face is going to split in two and kiss him when the song ends.

It’s a pretty damn good song, you decide.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back in Medium, all kinds of confusion and strife await your return, but as you and your new husband slip unnoticed out of the pavilion and run across the darkened grounds, hand in hand and laughing so hard your sides hurt, you couldn’t give a shit if you tried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my inspiration and motivation!!  
> Next time: shit goes down.


	20. All Hallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.

Eleven days later, you and Eridan return to Medium. Since you’re getting back on a Friday afternoon, you aren’t going to work until Monday, which leaves you with the weekend to ease yourself back into the real world. It’s a slow couple days- you’re only halfway unpacked by Saturday evening, and then you spend most of your time loudly watching TV. The old Ampora house doesn’t seem quite so unwelcoming.

Early Monday morning, Eridan is not beside you when you finally suffer yourself to open your eyes. You make your way downstairs blearily, bare feet padding against the cold floor, and squint through the doorway into the kitchen to find your husband standing over the stove in his fleece pajama pants, his back to you. The kitchen smells like eggs. You approach him and slide your arms around his waist, resting your forehead against the base of his neck and tracing the jagged, raised scar across the front of his torso. He takes a soft breath; you let your eyes close.

“Morning,” he says. You give a muffled groan. “Don’t you fall asleep on me,” he warns.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt,” is your only response.

He curls his fingers around your hands and counters, “Why are you wearin’ one?”

“Because I have self-respect.”

“Hey, don’t slut-shame me.”

One of your hands moves to touch the little tattoo between his shoulderblades. You mumble some clever response, pressing a kiss to each of the two stylized india ink letters.  **CA** stands for Caligula (not California), apparently, a stupid joke from high school that a teenage Eridan decided to get permanently engraved on his body. When he first told you about it, you said it would make more sense if it was CG for Caligula. He said you could get your own damn tattoo.

“Love you too,” he replies.

* * *

 

You step into your cluttered office to find Terezi lounging in her chair as Rose hangs her FBI jacket on one of the coathooks. When Rose turns back around, she sees you and smiles. “Hello, Karkat.” 

Terezi perks up, taking her feet off the desk. “Yo, Karkles!” She grins. “We were gonna have a welcome-back party for you, but then we decided not.”

“I feel so valued,” you say sardonically, grabbing your chair and rolling it over to your desk. “Where are Nepeta and Jane?”

As if on cue, the door opens, revealing the two missing members of CSI: Medium. Nepeta’s face lights up. “Welcome back, Karkitty!” she exclaims, carelessly dropping her bag on a file cabinet before hugging you- or rather, wrapping her arms around your shoulders/neck and almost knocking you out of your seat. Rose grabs a plastic chair and carries it over to your desk.

“See, Terezi? Nepeta appreciates me,” you say reproachfully once released. Jane smiles, dutifully hanging up her jacket, then pulls a chair up to Terezi’s desk.

“Okay, brief me,” you say once everyone’s sitting in a kind-of-circle (Nepeta perches on a file cabinet). 

Rose pulls a manila folder out of her bag and hands it to you. “In this, you’ll find the records of everything that happened while you were gone. As an overview, there were a few more killings; forensics was able to find traces of greasepaint in some of the blood from the walls--”

“Meaning either they drew the symbols with their hands, or used their faces as paintbrushes,” Terezi adds helpfully.

“Quite so,” Rose continues. “If nothing else, we now have a general idea of the size of at least one of the murderers’ hands, which isn’t particularly compelling. Jane?”

Jane carefully reaches into one of the drawers of Terezi’s desk and pulls out a Ziploc bag, from which she produces a notecard that she then hands to you. The stationery is a little weathered, a little smudged, a little stained, but what draws your eyebrows together are the thick lines of dark ink that cover it.

As your eyes trace the symbols, Jane tells you her story. 

One day while you were gone, a woman (probably around forty years old) came into the station looking terrified and clutching the card to her chest, and asked for the detectives. Jane went down to meet her; the woman gave Jane the notecard, apologizing profusely and almost desperately. She didn’t mean to take it, she said. Her little son had been playing around and brought it to her, and when she told him to put it back he said he’d forgotten where he found it and she was terribly sorry for moving it, her son didn’t understand, et cetera, et cetera. Utterly confused, Jane had tried to tell the woman that she had done a very good thing by bringing this in. All the information Jane was able to glean from the woman was that her five-year-old son had been playing around Iron Fountain--

“You mean Hadron Kaleido Memorial Fountain,” you interrupt forcefully. “That’s what it’s called.”

Terezi sighs. “It’s Iron Fountain, Karkat. I know it’s rough for you or whatever, but- I  _ saw  _ it with my own eyes. It’s rough for everyone, but it is what it is.” Nepeta nods along.

You swallow uncomfortably. “What were you saying, Jane?”

\--her five-year-old son was playing around Iron Fountain when he found it. The woman then absconded, leaving Jane with a mysterious notecard and a lot of questions.

“Clearly, this is an Alternian dead drop,” Rose fills in. “One can easily infer that it’s a cryptogram, some kind of ciphered message represented in symbols. It would likely be a breakthrough in the investigation, seeing as this is the first time an Alternian dead drop has been intercepted that we know of.” You glance at Nepeta. “However, we have been unable to decipher it.”

“Aren’t there like, cryptologists?” you ask. “People who specialize in this shit?”

Rose nods. “We have been in contact with a number of experienced cryptologists, but if they are able to solve the puzzle, it will clearly take more than five days.”

You frown slightly. “Nepeta, did you ever finish looking through all those papers?” Nepeta shakes her head, a little confused; Rose, Jane, and Terezi look even more confused. “I remember she mentioned some shit about cracking a code. Maybe she figured it out and wrote something that could help us.”

Understanding crosses Nepeta’s face. “I remember that too! I’ll, um, flip through everything. Very quickly,” she adds with a little wince.

“Okay, what the fuck are you two talking about,” Terezi declares.

* * *

 

That evening, Eridan picks you up from work because he can. Two cups of instant noodles later, you fall asleep against him to the tune of the CBS Hamilton documentary, and don’t wake up when he carefully carries you to bed, then pulls on a jacket and slips out into the night.

* * *

 

Nepeta is late to work. The analog clock on the wall reads ten, twenty, thirty minutes after she should’ve arrived.

At 9:45, the door bursts open and Nepeta’s momentum almost carries her out the window. “I found it!” she cries, pulling a worn sheet of notebook paper out of her bag and holding it at you. Everyone straightens up, eyes widening; you take the paper from her and scan it hurriedly. You look back up at Nepeta, who is standing proudly before you and trying to catch her breath.

“This is it,” you confirm almost incredulously. “Your mom fucking rocks.”

“Here,” Jane says, reaching for the paper. You give it to her; she pulls out the intercepted dead drop and gets to work.

* * *

 

Jane works diligently, counting and connecting and decrypting and rewriting. Finally, she sits back with a little sigh and declares it finished.

“What does it say?” asks Terezi.

“I’ll read it,” Jane says, picking up her notepad. “There isn’t much in the way of punctuation, but here goes. ‘ _ Efforts so far successful continue Jonsen Pine; Halloween confirmed with blessing of Messiahs GHB granted caste files. Info pertinent to operation will be shared at Wednesday covenant. Ka gave final confirmation for cold transfer of requested materials will occur at planned place and time.’ _ ”

“Who’s ‘ _ Ka _ ’?” Nepeta asks.

“I’m not sure,” Jane admits. “It might also be K.A., there’s no way to tell. All I know is that it was represented as kappa, alpha.”

You blink. Greek is a phonetic alphabet, you remember from some class once upon a time. There’s no C in the Greek alphabet; there’s just kappa for K and occasionally C. Meaning kappa alpha might also correspond to  **CA.**

For shit’s sake.

* * *

 

The mayor’s office issues a statement that in light of recent circumstances, citizens should exercise particular caution if they choose to allow their children to go trick-or-treating this Halloween. ‘ _ Info pertinent to operation will be shared at Wednesday covenant _ ’ keeps bouncing around in your head. You wonder if this covenant, whatever it entails, happened already or is yet to come, and if Eridan did or will go.

Soon enough, Wednesday night rolls around. About half an hour after you switch off the lamp on your nightstand, you feel the mattress shift under you as Eridan gets out of bed. You keep your eyes closed and your breathing steady until you hear the front door open and close, and then you sit up. Okay.

Should you do this? Typically, it’s one hundred percent not something acceptable to do to one’s partner-- but the rules don’t really apply when your partner is literally a serial killer, you think. Plus, you just married the guy. You deserve to know where he’s going. 

You slide out of bed and pull on a dark hoodie and sweatpants, then tuck your sheathed knife into your waistband, grab your wallet, and slip on a random pair of shoes on your way out the door. The home security system is disabled, you notice, which is smart of Eridan seeing as there’s a hidden security camera right above your front door.

Eridan is about two blocks away, which is good for your purposes. You quickly cross the street so as not to be directly behind him and follow.

A few minutes later, Eridan turns onto a slightly larger, busier street; you can see a couple other people walking around. When you reach the street, you see him standing at a bus stop. Okay. He’ll definitely notice you if you walk up to the stop, which would be a major obstacle if you didn’t literally do this shit for a living. You turn away from him and walk up the street towards the next stop on the bus route.

You wait at the stop for about five minutes before the bus pulls up. As the doors open, you pull your hood further over your face and dig your bus card out of your wallet. This is probably the riskiest part, but you’ve been on buses with Eridan before and you know he’s not the people-watching type, so you know he won’t notice you. Even if he brought his phone- you sincerely hope he’s not stupid enough to bring his phone- he’ll be in his own world. The bus is around a quarter full; you surreptitiously register Eridan’s position on it (mid-front, driver’s side, window seat) as you walk casually past his row, then sit down two rows behind the back door.

When he gets up and heads for the front, you wait five seconds before making your way to the back door; once your feet are on the pavement again, you find yourself in the closest thing Medium has to a red light district. As a police detective, you know this area well. Eridan wastes no time, setting off in another direction, and you follow.

After a few minutes, he approaches a generally upscale-looking establishment that emanates a heavy bass beat and loud voices. You lift your gaze and twenty different puzzle pieces click together as you read the name advertised in dazzling purple lights:  **DERSE.**

Of course. Derse, Medium’s premier nightclub, the place where Eridan had his bachelor party, doubles as a front for Alternian operations. It’s a pretty smart setup, you think; if someone found out that Eridan was sneaking out and going to Derse at night, they would assume he’s cheating on you rather than organizing murder.

You  _ wish  _ he was cheating on you, rather than whatever he does after he walks into Derse, nodding to a bouncer who clearly recognizes him.

* * *

 

On Friday night, Eridan texts you to let you know he’ll be working late, specifically saying “stuck in meetings”, which is the phrase the two of you decided on for him to convey that he’ll actually be at his office.

So when you get home, you drop your bag in the foyer closet and then lock the front door, sliding the deadbolt home for good measure. As soon as you hear that soft  _ click-thunk _ , the house closes in around you and breathes its creeping paranoia across the nape of your neck. Rose’s words ring in your ears and echo through the silent walls-  _ Engaging this protocol likely makes you more susceptible to such flashbacks- _ but old habits die hard and you wrap yourself in this one like a security blanket, moving from room to room, cutting the lights and locking the windows and drawing the curtains, trapping yourself here with your shaking hands in the vain hope that it’ll keep everything else out. The house is empty and silent, its walls stuffed with corpses and closets filled with pale wire hanger bones, wood panels imbibed and engraved with strange dark cryptograms, pushing its weightless pressure in on you. As you pass under a closed trapdoor, you realize that the house is top-heavy, empty rooms full of secrets and whispers crowned with an attic full of cold cruel metal and blood. There’s blood everywhere, and the walls never stop murmuring mysteries at you. What are you still doing here, they ask? Do you really still think you can save him, change him? He belongs to me, to the house, to his father’s legacy, to cruelty and blood. He belongs to his old house just as you belong to yours. Ravaged and burned, razed to the ground; you belong to your father’s house, to blood eradicated-- save for you. 

Why are you still here? What do you think you’re achieving? You work to prevent the justice you strive for, you try to save lives yet let murderers walk free, you tell yourself you’ll save Eridan and Gamzee but you have no idea how. Why are you still here? Have you considered that maybe you shouldn’t be? Have you considered that maybe the reason you keep getting pulled back into that moment in that house decades ago is that  _ you should’ve died there maybe everything would be better that way maybe there’s still a chance your grip on the knife your father-not-father gave you tightens-- _

Stop. You aren’t going down that path. This place is just screwing you, getting in your head.

“Fuck you,” you say aloud, and it makes you feel almost like you have a handle on the situation. You switch off the bathroom light and head back down the stairs. Slowly, you realize that the house has stopped whispering. You don’t know whether that’s a good or bad sign; you rub the spade in the handle of your knife nervously as you move toward the living room, a little glad for the reprieve. The house is draped in utter silence-- then, the clock upstairs strikes the half-hour, sudden and jarring in its single, staccato syllable--

_ Run. _

You look up and see, there in the shadows, a figure just slightly darker than the darkness around it and noticeable only by the stark white greasepaint decorating its face like something crawled straight out of the nightmares you can’t stop having. And of course, you can’t fucking move; all you can do is stand there and listen to your blood pounding in your ears as the grinning face moves closer. You’re about to die. You’re about to die and this fucking juggalo is going to kill you.

But he doesn’t. He swings, yes, the juggling club in his hand making a dark-and-light-striped arc in the air with more than enough force to shatter your skull, but suddenly you dive past him and under his swing. He spins around and pursues you, and you keep moving because somewhere between there and here you decided you’re not going down without a fucking fight. Knife in hand, you stumble through the foyer and into the closet, slamming the sliding door behind you.

Your breathing is ragged and you’re blind in the darkness; outside the door, you hear chilling laughter draw closer. Desperately, blindly, you fumble through the coats beside you until your hand falls on your police jacket. You reach into its inside pocket and pull out your department-issued Glock, dropping into a squat and quietly taking the safety off. Suddenly, your attacker decides to smash through the closet door with his clubs, taking one panel clean off in a cacophony of cracking and splintering wood but missing you by a few feet thanks to your position. From your low vantage point, you fire without taking time to aim. The juggalo cires out and staggers backward. You slip past him out of the closet barely half a second before he lurches towards you. He swings again, straight at you, and you don’t have time to duck or pray so you just run at him, knife still in hand. Juggling clubs have a very particular range, you know. You bodyslam your attacker, using your momentum to drive your knife into his sternum; his arm smacks against your back uselessly- but forcefully- with the momentum of his swing as he slumps against you. 

You shove him- or, his corpse- off of you, letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously as you take a few shaky steps backwards before just plain falling on your ass. Shit. Your chest hurts, and your whole body is hitting a 9.7 on the fucking Richter scale. Trying to control the quivering of your hands, you take out your phone and call Terezi.

* * *

 

Some amount of time later, you are shaken back to reality by muffled sirens, and then Terezi, Rose, and Jane nearly knock down your front door, flanked by a few paramedics and officers. The next several minutes are a blur; none of the cops go far into your house because all the evidence they need is right here and also you mumbled something about not wanting them tracking all their goddamn horseshit on your carpet with all their fucking uniforms and bullshit; someone tries to get you to move but you say you’re pretty sure you’ll pass out if you use any of your limbs so they just bring you a weighted blanket and let Rose comfort/question you in her way as you try to stop fucking shaking.

Eventually, you hear indignant yelling outside, and then Eridan bursts in looking more dishevelled than you’ve ever seen him. For a moment, you wonder vaguely whether he’ll be pissed that you killed the juggalo, but as soon as his gaze finds you he steps over the body that’s still sprawled across the floor beside you without even glancing at it. And then his arms are around you, and you hold on to him for dear fucking life and cry into his nice conference shirt.

* * *

 

When all is said and done, the cops clear out and you are left sitting on the floor, curled into Eridan, your forehead pressed into the hollow of his neck. He hasn’t said a word, and neither have you, but you don’t really need to say anything, nor is there anything to say that you don’t both already know. Finally, he shifts and murmurs that you should lay down and he’ll try to clean some of this shit up. You consent, and he picks you up and carries you upstairs to bed. There’s a tension rising in him, you can tell, boiling just below the surface, and when he helps you strip off your bloody shirt and sees the big, dark bruise blooming across the side of your chest it’s the last straw. He steps away and pulls out his phone and all but yells at someone to get their ass over here, he doesn’t care where the fuck they are, then he kisses you and tells you firmly you’re safe and tells you more softly to try to get some rest.

* * *

 

You wake up some time later to the sound of Eridan and Gamzee having a conversation downstairs.

“All I’m sayin’ is, he’s all kinds of low in the motherfucking blood, and that’s just how it all be. Plus, he all up and motherfucking won, so I ain’t seeing why a brother don’t get his miraculous motherfucking chill on. 

Eridan makes an exasperated sound. “Will you just fuckin’ listen! It ain’t about that! It’s about I fuckin’  _ told  _ ‘em, all of ‘em, not to  _ touch him _ . I told ‘em not to do exactly what this fucker just did-- he went against my direct orders.”

You can’t see Gamzee, but you know he’s nodding along in that semi-sympathetic way. “Some of them’s been mumbling lately, in all their shadowy by-the-by’s that they’s all thinking that our miraculous brother upstairs got too much power over you. THey’re up and thinking he’s corrupting a brother.”

“That’s bullshit, first of all, an’ secondly it ain’t no fuckin’ excuse! This bitch tried to  _ kill  _ him, you realize that? Why ain’t you even a little pissed about this!”

“Ain’t much room for me to be motherfuckin’ pissed about it, brother, what with our Karbro in his motherfucking caste. It’s just how things all up and be.” Gamzee’s kind of freaking you out; there’s something off about him, something inexplicably insidious in his voice.

There’s a pause, then Eridan says something too quiet for you to make out.

“Say what?”

“Remember when he had his last crisis, and he got a transfusion an’ shit? I donated.”

You sit up suddenly, but then your chest twinges and forces you to lay back down. “So what you’re motherfucking telling,” Gamzee says slowly, his tone unfamiliar to you, “is that a brother upstairs got your blood all running in his motherfucking veins?”

“Yeah, some of it.”

“So what you’re mother- _ fucking telling _ ,” Gamzee says slowly, and it’s a strange uneven growl, “is that this motherfucker tonight all up and  _ set to spill superior blood. _ ”

“Yes.”

Gamzee laughs, soft and low and unsettling. “Well, ain’t he  _ motherfucking  _ lucky Karkat killed him.”

“So I’m sayin’ we--”

“Nah, I got places to motherfuckin’ be now. Gonna do some real heavy searching and consulting all on this matter, brother. But I can tell you you’re playing some miraculous motherfucking messiahs with this, all putting your stardust blood in somebody else, and I can tell you it’s a dangerous game.” You hear footsteps, and then the front door opens and closes. 

“Eridan,” you call. He curses and comes upstairs to find you propped up against some pillows, arms crossed.

“Listen, Kar--”

“When  _ exactly  _ were you planning on telling me about this?”

“I didn’t think it was important--”

“Don’t you  _ fucking  _ lie to me, Eridan Ampora. We both know this shit is--”

“I’m  _ serious _ , okay, I didn’t figure you needed to know!”

“Didn’t you think just for a second that maybe you should consult me when making a decision about  _ my body _ ? What’s next, are you going to try to turn me  _ white _ in my sleep?”

“I did it for you,” is all he says in response.

You sigh and squeeze your eyelids together. “I would at least hope that when you start playing ‘dangerous games’, you’ll tell me. I would at least hope that when you make decisions about my body, you’ll fucking  _ tell me.  _ God, Eridan, I’ve dealt with so much shit tonight, I do not need this.”

He moves towards you, climbing up onto the bed. “I know. I know, Kar. I’m- I’m sorry,” he says, gently lowering himself to lay mostly beside you with a little of his weight held over you by one hand on your other side as you watch his balefully. “And- I will, okay. I’ll tell you this shit from now on, promise.”

In lieu of an answer, you wrap your arms around him, pressing his face into your chest. He settles in, cautiously carding his fingers through your hair. “Don’t go anywhere tonight,” you mumble. “Please.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

 

On Monday- Halloween, October 31st- you are in the station for about ten minutes before the office phone rings. Terezi reaches over and picks it up. “Detective Inspector Terezi Pyrope,” she answers. Whoever is on the line talks for about thirty seconds; Terezi’s expression shifts concerningly throughout, then she says, “Send a car, we’re on our way.”

“What was that?” asks Nepeta after Terezi hangs up.

“911 center,” Terezi replies. “They’re getting flooded with calls about some spectacle downtown.”

“What’s the spectacle?” Jane prods.

“No clue. Apparently no one who’s seen it will actually say what it is- not even the cops they sent. Which is why we have to go check it out,” she explains, getting up and shoving a few things into her bag.

* * *

 

You get out of the police car, and are faced with something you never thought you’d have to see. Hadron Kaleido Memorial Fountain-  _ Iron Fountain _ \- stands before you, in the middle of Sufferer Square. The water of the fountain has been tinted a graphic scarlet, as you’ve seen barely in photographs and heard of unwillingly in stories.  _ There on the third tier at the top of Iron Fountain, _ the story goes,  _ the Sufferer was strung up, was tortured, was killed, and the waters of the fountain ran red with mutant blood. _

You pass out.

* * *

 

Halloween is a notoriously busy evening for police everywhere, of course, and in Medium the policy is that on October 31st, all officers must be at work and on duty until at least 11 pm, at which time normal work shifts resume. This year, in light of the circumstances, all city emergency responders (cops, firefighters, 911 operators, paramedics) have been briefed on what sort of things to report to the detectives heading the Alternia investigation. The detectives heading the Alternia investigation, in turn, have decided what sort of things might merit immediate presence or response.

Terezi works the phone, occasionally announcing news about clown sightings or gunshots or blood or fire, and Jane jots them down and marks them with a color-coded pin on a big map of Medium hung up next to the usual map marked with all the Alternia incidents since its revival. Meanwhile, Rose and Nepeta talk about plans and theories and PR, and you slowly flip through files.

Around 10:00, Jane breaks a temporary silence, looking directly over to you. “Karkat,” she says, “I think something’s going to happen at your house.”

“What?” you ask, standing up. That’s not possible; that doesn’t make sense, unless Eridan’s pulling some stupid trick to get you home early-- unless-- no. “Shit, Eridan’s there, I--”

“No,” Jane interrupts with weird sympathy in her voice. “I was referring to your other house.”

You freeze. “Shit.”

She looks back at her map, as if to check that she’s making the right inference. “I don’t know for certain, but the patterns indicate, and it would make sense--”

“There could be something happening there as we speak, and it’s likely no one would report it,” Rose muses.

“Karkat,” says Terezi slowly, as though she understands and regrets what she’s condemning you to, “we need you to go keep an eye on it.”

Your stomach twists- but you understand why you, the owner of the property, should be the one to go. “Oh, fuck. Hell. Okay,” you reply. “Will you come with me, or should I grab another partner?” You pause. Fuck. “Or-- we don’t have enough officers to spare two for this, do we.”

Terezi shakes her head apologetically. “There’ll be some cops stationed nearby. Keep us posted, and if shit hits the fan they’ll help you out.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.” You grab your gun and holster-- you really don’t like guns, and you’re not too god with them, but it situations like this you’ll take whatever you can get.

* * *

 

When you pull up to the opposing curb in an unmarked car, you find that the old Vantas house still sits on its corner, charred and abandoned. As far as you can tell, there’s nothing going on here-- though the cult graffiti remains from last time you saw it, everything else seems untouched. You really want to leave now.

Get your shit together, Karkat. You stare at the house for about five minutes, then pull out your tactical flashlight, switch it on, and sweep its beam across the front of the house, just to check. Everything looks fine-- but your eyebrows draw together. You do another sweep, and there it is again. On the outer wall, just next to the door, something glints in the light. A little tingle runs down your spine. God, you want to not be here right now. You carefully climb out of the car. The brightness of your flashlight reflected against the mystery object prevents you from making out what exactly it is from this distance. You really, really don’t want to do this.

You cross the street toward the blackened skeleton of your childhood home, the cloudy night seeming to go completely silent as you push through layer after layer of resisting instinct, forcing your muscles to move against your will, one foot in front of the other. When you reach the sidewalk, you lift your flashlight and squint, and you can just see--

What the fuck.

_ What the fuck. _

Without thinking, you push through the rotting wooden gate, duck through vines and brambles and step over the cracks and buckles in the pavement leading to the boarded-up front door, your eyes wide and narrowed and locked on the thing that can’t possibly be you must be hallucinating--

You climb up onto the front porch, your heavy footsteps nearly breaking the old charcoal-wood of the stairs, and then come to a full stop barely an arm’s length away from the door, letting your flashlight fall to your side.

Affixed next to the door before you, familiar and yet completely wrong, are four elegant, stylized numbers: 6206.

That’s the address of your house-- but not this one. That’s the address of the house you share with Eridan.

Someone went and stripped the label, the identification off of your home, off of the life you’ve built, and nailed it to this ravaged, painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. There’s no question here. There’s no scene to investigate, no cryptogram to decipher. This is a message, a warning, a threat, meant specifically for you.

You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this, but you have to, you have to know if they touched anything else. You pull out your Glock and take off the safety, just in case, then take a deep breath or two, bouncing slightly to prepare yourself, and then throw your entire weight against the door. 

Wood splinters and the door flies open with a bang, shaking dust from what’s left of the ceiling. Your momentum propels you a few steps forward, into the house; you stand stock still and look at your surroundings. Everything is

untouched.

A feeling you don’t know how to describe wraps itself around you, pulling you another step deeper into the house. It seems you’re the first person to stand between these walls since the last time you left them. You reach for where you remember the light switch being, then slide your hand down the wall to where it actually is and flip it. Nothing happens.

You turn your flashlight back on and peer around the corner into the living room. There, just the way you remember them and horrifically different, are the couch and the chairs and the coffee table, blackened and dilapidated to varying degrees-- and there, just the way you can’t fucking stop remembering, is a dark brown stain on the floor, smeared and trailing towards you from when you and your father dragged what was left of your brother out of the path of the fire. Your eyes burn and you clear your throat stubbornly. Most everything here has been destroyed, either by the struggle or the fire or all the years since. There is, however, a burnt picture frame facedown on the floor; you move slowly towards it and gingerly pick it up, and find that behind its shattered glass face is a slightly grimy, slightly charred photograph of you and your brother. You look at it for a little while, realizing that you forgot what Kankri looked like, realizing that he looked a lot like you grew up to, and when you feel tears start to fall you make sure that none of them land on the photograph, which you gently tuck into your pocket when you stand back up. The walls, though scorched and crumbling, welcome you home.

You continue through the house, even as every fibre of your being seems to want to leave. As false as the ghost stories told about this place may be, you soon find that it is haunted. Familiar figures move in and out of your peripheral vision; every once in a while you look around and catch half a glimpse of someone disappearing around a corner- sometimes a grinning painted face, but other times a baggy red sweater or the soft silhouette of an overworked man busy in the kitchen. You hear voices, incurably remembered and long forgotten, laughing and crying and calling out to you, and images of this home as it was twenty years ago seem superimposed upon the crumbling halls you walk through. As you trace thick permanent-marker swirls and shapes scribbled on peeling paint, you feel your father’s patient sigh beside you; as you walk carefully through your once-bedroom, trying not to fall through the floor, your brother asks you what exactly you think you’re doing up so late and you turn towards his bed, opening your mouth to tell him it’s none of his business, but then your gaze finds only a stained and fraying mattress on a crippled bed-frame, and you lower yourself to your knees and cry softly, hardly soothed by the ghost of your father’s comforting hand on your back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!! Please!!


	21. Take The Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eridan deals with some things; certain other things appear that need to be dealt with; a party is thrown; a process of dealing with things is begun.

After some time, you pull yourself together enough to dig your phone out of your pocket and tap Eridan’s contact.

“Kar?” he mumbles.

“Hey,” you reply, keeping your voice steady. “Where are you right now?” A beleaguered floorboard strains under your weight, so you shift. 

“Uh, in bed. You woke me up. Why?”

You take a deep breath. “I need you to check outside the front door and see if our address number things are where they should be.”

“O-okay,” he says, sounding very confused. “Gimme a sec.” You listen as he gets out of bed and makes his way downstairs, then you hear the door open. “Uh-- shit. The fuck?”

“It’s not there?”

“No, it ain’t. Where is it?”

“Um, it’s here.”

“Where are you?”

“It’s-- I’m-- I’m at my old house.” Silence. “Someone hung our address outside the front door; I think-- I know, it’s a message for me.” Silence. “Eridan?” Silence. “Eridan, please, seriously, I’m standing in the middle of this creepy-ass ruin and trying not to fucking lose consciousness or for that matter, my goddamn mind and I really need you to fucking talk to me, man.”

“I’m here. I’m here, sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, but they--” He pauses for a moment. “I’m gonna fucking kill ‘em, I swear, I’m gonna rip their  _ fuckin’-- _ I gotta go.” He hangs up before you can get a word in.

Your phone sort of falls loosely to your side, and you cast a glance around you, once again alone in what’s left of this house.

* * *

 

When you get home, about an hour and a half later, you find that Eridan is gone and his computer is sitting open on the couch. A keypress and his password reveal a window left open to the feed from the camera over your door, frozen on an image of two juggalos reaching for something on the wall.

You sigh and go up to bed, falling into a light and restless sleep until you feel Eridan’s weight on the mattress and his arms pulling you closer, and then you nestle in beside him and let yourself drift off again, safe.

* * *

 

The next day at work, Doctor Megido knocks on the door of your office and pokes her head in. “I have something I think you want to see.”

She ushers the five of you down to the third floor- forensics and evidence- and over to a computer, which she logs into and starts clicking around. “We were able to access the social media of one of the recent victims, and found that he posted this shortly before the approximate time of death. We've had it removed from his profile so it doesn’t scare anyone, of course.”

The picture she shows you is a generic selfie of a vaguely douchey-looking guy, but after looking at it for a couple seconds you frown and direct your attention to one corner. “Shit,” you mutter.

“What are you seeing?” Terezi asks.

“It’s a selfie of the victim,” Rose says, “but-- he appears to have been unintentionally photobombed by a malicious-looking juggalo. Doctor Megido, would you zoom in?”

Obliging, Aradia taps a few keys and the image is enlarged, focusing on the face in the corner. You curse under your breath again. That face is strikingly recognizable; manic hair and manic eyes and neat lines of dark thread stretching from upper to lower lip.

“Kurloz Makara is back in town,” says Nepeta.

Terezi raises her eyebrows. “Well,” she declares after a short pause. “Time to bring in the big guns.”

* * *

 

Due to the Medium P.D.’s policy on Halloween work hours, most officers don’t get a chance to celebrate the holidays. Which brings you here, parking your car outside the Pyrope residence as your husband looks out the rear window and tells you how close you are to that truck.

Once the key is out of the ignition, Eridan frees himself from his seatbelt and gets out of the car. As the two of you walk up to Terezi’s door, you are reminded how much taller than usual he is like this, which is objectively bullshit. He grins down at you as if reading your mind, his face all angled out by his makeup.

Reggie Pyrope answers your knock on the door and welcomes you in. Small pumpkins are littered across the interior of the Pyrope house, and the lights are dim and red. A considerable number of your workplace associates are already here, most of them in costume.

“Ah, Karkat,” says someone nearby. You turn around and see Rose Lalonde’s mesmerizing eyes locked on you from behind the blue-tinted lenses of roundish, pink-rimmed Spectrospecs. She pushes through the semi-crowd to greet you.

“Hey, Rose,” you reply. Eridan turns around.

“I’m glad to see you here,” she says affably. “And what charming underclothes you both have!” You snort at the reference. “I assume this was Eridan’s idea.”

“Yeah,” you and Eridan confirm at the same time.

She laughs softly. “Lovely. Come on, let’s find Terezi.”

* * *

 

Terezi is found in a corner near the snacks, violently mauling a handful of cookies. “You have crumbs in your wig,” you declare once you stand in front of her.

She starts, then grins. “Karkat! Glad you could join us. What do you think?”

“Of the party, or your costume?”

“My costume, obviously,” she says.

“I think it’s cheeky as fuck. Plus Toph is my favorite, so that helps.”

She laughs and claps her hands together. “What are you?”

“Karkat and Eridan are Rocky and Frank,” Rose butts in.

Terezi raises her eyebrows incredulously. “Karkat, you’re Rocky? Oh shit, lemme cop a feel of that,” she says, reaching for the general vicinity of your chest.

“Is it workplace harassment if it happens at your house? I think it is,” you say. “Also, I modified the costume, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Following your voice, she grabs the cloth over your torso, and frowns. “That’s no fun. God, Karkat, you ruin everything. How did you let him do this, Eridan?”

Eridan shrugs. “You know Kar. When he won’t see sense, he won’t see sense.”

“Fuck you,” you tell him.

“Well, really. That’s no way to behave on your first day out,” he quotes in a pretty good impression of Tim Curry. You lift yourself onto the balls of your feet and bite his nose (a little bit gently).

* * *

 

“How’s the campaign going?” you ask.

Kanaya laughs, showcasing her fake vampire fangs. “It isn’t really a campaign at all. I am still running unopposed. It would seem no one else is up to the risk, as it were.”

“Karkitty, pay attention!” Nepeta calls from across the table, adjusting her cat whiskers.

“Yeah, Kar, pay attention,” Eridan echoes from beside you. “Are you done, Nep?”

“Uh… yeah, here!” She passes him the dice.

He frowns at the board, carefully analysing the layout. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “I’m goin’ for Kamchatka.”

“What!” You whip around to face him. “That’s mine, you festering dick!”

He shrugs. “It’s a good territory.”

“Why don’t you go after Rose! Rose has good territories!”

“Rose is winning!”

“I’m your  _ husband! _ ”

“Yeah, and I’ll fuckin’ divorce you if you ragequit this shit. Roll.”

You growl and swipe the dice out of his outstretched hand.

* * *

 

On Thursday, the four of you- all but Nepeta, for confidentiality reasons- drive to Los Angeles for a meeting with the big guns that Terezi somehow managed to orchestrate. The meeting is set at a rundown yet well-established diner in Eastern L.A. which seems to host a good portion of the city’s thriving punk scene. When you step through the door, you find  _ her _ sitting at a table in the corner, sipping coffee and looking at her phone.

You all came to an agreement, after you first saw that image of Kurloz Makara, that while it would be easy to arrest and indict him, you would be no better off. On the other hand, you had what could be seen as a doorway into Alternia, if you had the right person to follow Kurloz’s path in-- which brings you here. Personally, you are very concerned about all this for reasons you obviously can’t tell your colleagues.

Meenah Peixes notices you and inclines her head, as if to say that you may approach. You do so, guiding Terezi to Peixes’s table and helping her into a chair. Peixes scrutinizes you all confidently. “Yo, Pyrope,” she says. “How you been?”

“Blind,” Terezi responds casually as the three of you remaining sit down. “How was rehab?”

“Sweet,” says Peixes. “Got my brain all fixed up. Who are your friends?”

“Oh, yeah. This is my partner, Detective Inspector Vantas, and FBI agents Crocker and Lalonde.”

Peixes raises a pierced eyebrow. “Vantas, huh? What’s yo’ job around there, goin’ to crime scenes and askin’ everybody to get along?” A cruel smile stretches across her face. You clench your fists. “Surprised you ain’t dead already either way. Must be a pretty useless pig.”

You’ve begun to emit a low-pitched growl. “Shut your damn mouth,  _ Peixes _ . At least my family is known for dying for a cause; yours is known for dying in the  _ chair.  _ I mean, of course  _ you  _ got out of it, because your sedentary ass didn’t get off its gilded heiress throne enough to merit anything more or less than eight months in rehab, so why don’t you do what you do best and sit the fuck down, you bourgeois pop-punk piece of shit.”

Peixes gives a surprised laugh. “God  _ damn, _ this one got a mouth on him!” She cackles. “You single?”

You glare at her. “Married.”

She  _ tsk _ s at you. “What’s her name?”

“Eridan Ampora,” you say flatly, ignoring her reaction. “I say that’s enough pleasantries. What are we doing here.”

Terezi clears her throat. “Yeah, I filled you in earlier, Meenah. Have you thought about our offer?”

“The one where you want me to get hooked up to mics an’ go pretend to join Alternia? Yeah, I thought about it.”

“What do you think?” Jane prods.

“I think that shit mad risky, yo.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “Good for you I’m a boss-ass reckless thrillseeker.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding (then remember that this is bad news for you). “So you’ll do it?” Rose asks.

“Yeah, for the price we talked about.”

You frown. “And how do we know we can trust you? I mean, no offense, but your record is about as clean as a seventeen-year-old white boy’s room.”

She fixes you with a steady gaze. “You seen the interrogations and whatever. I ain’t give a shit about Alternia one way or another. Never have. But--” she says, her voice growing serious, “ain’t no one fuck with my little sister ‘cept me.”

* * *

 

The five of you talk for a while, hammering out details about how this is going to work. “So who’s gonna be on the other end of my mics an’ shit?” Meenah asks.

“One of us will be your handler,” Rose explains. “All your information will go through them.”

“Which one’s it gonna be?”

Rose shrugs. “That is up to you.”

Meenah hums, thinking. “I’mma go with Shouty ova’ here,” she decides, nodding at you. 

You blink. “Me? Really?”

She grins. “Yeah, I figure if you fuckin’ Ampora you oughtta know how to deal with us ex-Alternia types.”

You start to retort, then pause and think. Well.

The thing is, you’re in trouble here. This whole situation is highly confidential, starting from the fact that the police know Kurloz Makara is in Medium. All Nepeta knows is that you’ve gone out of town to meet a potential informant, knowledge which she cannot publish or share, and she knows more than anyone else. You can’t tell Eridan about this; he’s smart enough to figure out how to protect himself without drawing suspicion, but he would have to tell Gamzee, and from what you know of this new, Alternian Gamzee, he wouldn’t take time to think at all before killing Meenah as a blood traitor or something, which would logically tell your coworkers there’s a mole among them. Given your knowledge of Alternia and its structure, it won’t be long before  _ Meenah Peixes _ learns the identities of its current leaders, seeing as she would likely be poised to join them. If you’re lucky, there’s a 50/50 chance they’ll get suspicious on their own before Meenah uncovers anything too incriminating. But if you’re her handler-- you would be the one giving her instructions and receiving her reports and sifting through all the video and microphone feeds and information and  _ you would be the one making reports to the others. _ You would control a considerable amount of what your coworkers know. You haven’t actively obstructed the investigation on such a level- you haven’t  _ lied to your friends _ on such a level- but--

“Okay, fine,” you grumble, pretending not to be relieved.

“So just checking, y’all gonna pay me, right?” Meenah asks.

Rose nods. “The rate we discussed,” she repeats.

“Aight,” says Meenah. “Don’t see why we shouldn’t get to it.”

A murmur of agreement goes around the table. “Do you have private transportation to Medium?” Jane asks. 

“Yeah.”

Jane thinks for a moment. “Very well, are you able to bring Karkat with you? I believe the best way to play this is the four of us head back, you and Karkat speak logistics for half an hour to forty-five minutes or more, then you drive to Medium together and drop him right outside city limits, at which point Karkat shall return to the station, acquire an undercover car, and you may begin.”

“Sweet,” says Meenah.

“Sounds good to me,” you echo.

Terezi shrugs on her coat; you feel a nudge at your foot and look down to find that Rose has gently slid an unmarked briefcase across the floor to you. “In there is everything you’ll need for now,” she says. “We will check in with Seventh and Vagabond, and have everything there prepared by the time you arrive.”

Meenah hums noncommittally; “Okay,” you say. “See you guys at the station.”

“Well, I won’t see you, but smell ya later nonetheless,” Terezi cackles, standing up. Jane stands, pushing in her chair, and slides her hand into the crook of Terezi’s elbow; Rose dusts herself off and leads the way out of the diner.

Once they’ve left, Meenah fixes her predatory smile on you. “What’s in the briefcase?” she asks.

You clear your throat and flag down a waiter. “Let’s take a walk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween costume index:  
> Karkat- Rocky (Rocky Horror Picture Show)  
> Eridan- Dr. Frank N Furter (Rocky Horror Picture Show)  
> Rose- Luna Lovegood (HP)  
> Kanaya- a vampire  
> Terezi- Toph Beifong (Avatar: The Last Airbender)  
> Nepeta- fucking neko furry hell  
> (not pictured) Jane- Sherlock Holmes
> 
> Next time: Meenah goes undercover (as herself) and Karkat is faced with his greatest fear (juggalos? losing a loved one? confronting the ghosts of the past? bOObs? find out next time on Holy Fuck I Can't Believe This Is Still Going)


	22. Bikes, Bitches, and Birthrights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and Meenah take a walk. The story progresses.

You and Meenah walk for a few minutes, you with your briefcase and she with her gym bag, until you reach a smallish park. There, you talk specifics, telling her how wires and cameras and drops will work and talking her through the contents of the briefcase, which she rifles through a bit. She steers you casually toward a certain area around the opposite perimeter of the park where she says you’ll probably find a quiet place.

You do find a quiet place; a dead-end alley inhabited only by dumpsters and litter. Meenah seems perfectly comfortable here, hopping up to sit on a dumpster lid and grinning down at you. “So how we gonna run today?”

“Well, do you know how to find Makara?”

“Yeah, I bet I can sniff him out pretty easy.”

“Okay, so what we’re going to do is get you outfitted, then go back to Medium like Jane said, and then I’ll follow you to wherever Makara is and you’ll do your initial approach like we talked about.”

“Aight. Does that make it wire time?”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, putting the briefcase on the dumpster next to her and opening it. “So I can hook you up with some of this now, and then we can find you a bathroom or something and--”

“Nah, it’s chill,” Meenah interrupts. “I ain’t shy, an’ I been planning to change my shirt before I go in anyways.” She pulls off her distressed tee and unhooks her bra, leaving both on the dumpster as she slides off to stand before you, baring a pretty impressive set of tattoos. “Top’s good for now, right? I can take off my pants whenever.”

It takes you a moment for your brain to catch up with all of this before you can respond. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You grab some wires and tape out of the briefcase and get to work.

* * *

 

“Make sure you do that shit right,” she warns as you carefully tape a mic between her breasts. “He can get handsy.”

You blink and look up at her. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Yeah, anybody can get handsy if they high on the right shit. ‘Course, I’ll deck his ass if he try anything and he knows it, but I ain’t finna get my ass culled as a traitor.”

You nod slowly. “You’re okay going into this?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Turn around.” She does so, and you continue-- until you stop, resting the pad of your index finger on a particular tattoo between her shoulderblades. “BB?” you ask.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” She looks over her shoulder at you. “I like to tell people it’s for Boss Bitch, but-- I figure you noticed it ‘cause yo’ guy got one just like it, huh. He gotta be, what, CA? CB? Feffy was CC, is all I know.”

You blink. “He has CA, yeah. Was- was this--”

“Pretty much serial numbers. We older kids was the B’s, younger ones was the C’s. Kurloz is older than me, so he got BA. Fun shit.”

“Damn.”

* * *

 

Once Meenah is wired, fully clothed, and confident that she’ll be able to do this herself in this future, the two of you walk back to the parking lot outside the diner. There, you look at the couple of vehicles in the lot (a couple old hippie cars, a minivan, a beat-up sedan or two, a BMW, and a sleek black Harley-Davidson,) trying to guess which one’s hers, until you realize--

“Oh, no,” you breathe.

“Oh,  _ yes _ ,” Meenah cackles, pulling a fuschia motorcycle helmet out of her gym bag.

* * *

 

After one of the most terrifying experiences of your life, during which Meenah’s rattails ended up in your mouth on multiple occasions, you are (blessedly) dropped off outside Medium’s city limits, and catch a bus back to the station. There, you let your colleagues know it went well and you’re heading in for the initial approach, then take an unmarked car out of the garage, a pile of electronics in your passenger seat.

You follow Meenah’s GPS tracker to the middle of a small bridge between two smallish hills in a nearby semi-wooded park-ish area. Once you’ve pulled over and taken the key out of the ignition, you open your laptop and put on a headset, connecting to Meenah’s mic, cameras, and hidden earpiece. 

“Alright, I’m here,” you say into the microphone.

“I hear you,” says Meenah’s voice in your ear. “I’m just chillin’ a little ways away from this spot where Kurloz used to spend pretty much all his time. Talkin’ pretty quiet so’s not to look suspicious. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. When you’re ready, take a look. Plant a camera if possible.”

“Got you. Goin’ silent now.”

About thirty seconds later, the feed labeled CAMERA 1 EX flickers to life, showing you an extreme close-up of Meenah’s shoe, which she appears to be tying. Soon enough, she moves to reveal a nice side-view of the bridge you’re currently parked on, focused on the shadowy haunt under it. Dry leaves crunch as Meenah approaches the bridge. You hit record.

There are definitely figures under the bridge, though they’re all too tucked away behind the supports for you to get a good look at them. “If you find him, try to get him to come out a little more so I can see him,” you say.

“Yo, Makara,” Meenah calls out. “I hear there’s somebody come to town lookin’ for yo’ tweaker ass.” A shadow shifts, then grows sharper. It’s definitely Makara, you note; he looks pleasantly surprised to see her. She gives a triumphant laugh. “I knew I’d find you here.”

Makara’s hands move; you can’t quite make out the motions. “We’re definitely gonna have to go with writing,” you say.

“You know I don’t do sign language,” she lies effortlessly. “An’ I think you also know why I’m here.”

The two of them step vaguely closer, almost circling each other; they wind up perpendicular to your camera view, which is a perfect angle for you to see Meenah close the distance between them and lean in to whisper in Kurloz’s ear. “I heard Alternia’s back,” she breathes. “I want in.” You can hear his soft intake of breath; his uncertainty is so strong you can almost hear that too. “I know damn well I ain’t my mama, but you ain’t yo’ fuckin’ daddy either. I know damn well I was born to rule this bitch. This shit is my birthright, an’ don’t you dare  _ think  _ about keepin’ me off my throne, boy.” You shiver a little; there’s a distinct touch of HIC in her voice now that you don’t think is accidental.

Makara takes a half step back and almost-smiles at her through his stitched lips.

She nods. “Good. I need someplace to crash.”

He extends a hand to her in a universally recognizable gesture.

She crosses her arms. “Long as you got a legit place an’ a bed for me to sleep in, ocray. And I’m talkin’ bout my own bed, you hear,” she adds. “I ain’t sharin’ no funky-ass duvet with no nasty clown.”

He nods understanding.

“This seems like a good time for me to split,” you say into the mic as Meenah confidently appraises her surroundings. “Signal if you’re not okay with that. Otherwise, make sure to step on the camera and crush it when you leave.” She doesn’t react; you make sure the video and audio feeds are recording, then close your laptop and turn the key in the ignition.

* * *

 

When you get home, Eridan is already there; you drop your bag in the hallway closet (or rather the hallway cave-- you took off the door/panels after that juggalo smashed them and haven’t gotten around to replacing them) and kiss him. He reminds you it’s your turn to make dinner and you head into the kitchen, grabbing some uncooked pasta from the pantry as you go. You route the feed from Meenah’s wire through your phone (an app fronting as Spotify) and plug in your headphones to listen while you cook. For the first few minutes, you hear only weird echoey background noises and Meenah’s loud complaints about an elevator not working.

“I warned you about stairs, bro,” you mutter at one point, holding down the microphone button on your headphones to transmit. Meenah gives a sharp laugh.

Right as the water starts to boil, you hear some fumbling sounds, and then a door creaks open. “This yo’ crib?” Meenah asks. There’s a pause. “Aight, I’m takin’ that room. You betta clear all yo’ shit off my bed.” It continues like this for a while; when the pasta is ready, you hit record again and turn off the autoplay.

Over dinner, Eridan complains at length about his coworkers and you interject when so compelled. When you’re finished eating, you tell him you have a lot of work to do and retreat to your office.

A few hours later, you get a pop-up notification on your work laptop that “CAM 1 IN” has come online. You surreptitiously close the office door, further muffling the sounds of the TV from downstairs, and click to the live feed, putting on your headset. “--ain’t even payin’ attention to me, I could be gettin’ killed ova here an’ you prolly ova there gettin’ laid or some shit,” you hear immediately. Meenah is snapping her fingers in front of the camera. 

“Shut the fuck up, I’m here,” you grumble, wondering vaguely whether it’s a common characteristic of second-generation Alternian highbloods to be attention whores.

“Oh, yo,” she says. “Kurloz went out to do somethin’ mad illegal, so I figured it was a good time to set up the cameras. This a good angle?”

“Yeah, you look great. I’m going to Instagram that.”

She laughs. “You gotta Snapchat, dumbass. That way nobody gonna find out I’m with the pigs, cause Snapchats disappear.”

You snort. “Whatever. Either way, it looks good. Try to get one in all the other rooms but the bathroom.”

“Aight.” You watch her walk offscreen, then a few seconds later the CAM 2 IN feed flickers to life. “This my room, for all yo’ watchin’-pretty-girls-sleep desires. I’ll get you Makara’s in a sec.”

“Got it.” You rename the feed MEENAH’S BEDROOM as she disappears. “We’re on for tomorrow, right? You’re all set up with that?”

CAM 3 IN connects; you rename it accordingly. Meenah nods. “Yea, all good.”

“Okay. In that case, I’m probably going to sign off for the evening because you’re exhausting as fuck.”

“Love you too, Shouty.”

* * *

 

The next morning, you drop by Starbucks on your way to work, ordering a cafe latte with four extra shots of espresso; Meenah rings you up and takes your money, looking amusingly out of place in her green apron. You loiter around the pickup counter for a few minutes before she sets out your coffee, which is already complete with a cardboard sleeve. 

Once in the privacy of your car, you remove the sleeve and find a number of folded paper slips tucked inside it, all bearing notes written in handwriting that vaguely resembles Gamzee’s. Most of the notes just say things like “yes” and “no”, but he also writes some about his time in rehab, what he’s been doing since, and what he’s done since he returned to Medium. A quick skim of the writing brings out blasé confessions to at least three murders.

You put the notes in a plastic bag, take a long sip of your coffee, and head to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Number one metaquestion brought up in this chapter: in what context does Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff exist in this universe? (Timely comedic allusion plus appropriate reception by a relative stranger suggest widespread memetic proliferation.)  
> Answer: Several bats scream in your ears, symbolizing that I am as confused as you. Probably it's a Medium-specific thing, and probably something so deeply ingrained in Medium that if you asked a citizen the same question, they would blink at you and uncertainly say that SBAHJ just /is/.  
> Next time: the investigation continues; secrets are revealed; Kanaya Maryam wins the 2016 election.


	23. Vanilla Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some shit goes down.

The investigation is finally beginning to make progress. Now, the objective is to use that progress to uncover more-- before Alternia’s progress catches up.

( _ Your _ objective is to stall the investigation’s progress just enough to stay one step ahead of them in your progress with Gamzee and Eridan. You do think you’re making some progress with them, especially Eridan; it’s probably a good sign that Alternia suspects you of corrupting him. Also, taking into account the two juggalos who stole your address, he’s killed more Alternians than civilians since you got married [if the number of shooting victims is anything to go by], which is probably a step in the right direction. Hopefully, this is working; hopefully you can get his shit together before it hits the fan. Hopefully, Gamzee will follow Eridan.)

In order to capitalize on the progress made, in conjunction with your work with Meenah, you and your colleagues start seeking out and interviewing acquaintances and relatives of your attacker, revisiting and reviewing information and evidence, etc. You compile various lists and graphic organizers full of miniscule details, have Aradia work on isolating and identifying the ingredients of the cult’s greasepaint, and set up a couple surveillance cameras in Sufferer Square.

* * *

 

A few days later, you stand in front of City Hall, blinking at its newly graffitied facade, surrounded by a throng of clamoring news crews pushing at the yellow tape and being pushed back by police and one Nepeta Leijon.

DON’T LET THE SUN SET ON INFIDEL’S MEDIUM

read the huge words.

alternia is nocturnal :o)

read a smaller, bright red subtitle below them.

You pinch the bridge of your nose for a minute, then turn to deal with the press.

* * *

 

As the investigation has continued, Rose has continued to compile her observations and understandings of the psychological/sociological phenomenon known as the Alternian Medium, in the form of a series of papers and theses written casually on her own time. Every once in a while, ever since the conversation you had with her in your living room, she shares one or two of these working drafts with you, both for your information (which often helps you as you try to figure out what the fuck to do about Eridan and Gamzee, unbeknownst to her), and in order to get feedback and input from you. She also shares them with Kanaya on occasion, which you imagine helps Kanaya as she tries to figure out what the fuck to do about Medium.

Eridan mumbles something into his pillow, shifting around. You very gently pat the exposed side of his face in an attempt to lull him back to sleep. Your attempt fails, and he groggily pulls himself up into something of a sitting position against/on you, then starts pressing sleepy kisses along your collarbone. You run your fingers through his hair, kiss his forehead, and tell him to re-lose consciousness right the fuck now. He does so, still basically sprawled out across you (or as much as he can be, with your laptop in the way). You turn your attention back to the document you’re viewing.

Among the more prominent and expansive dimensions of the Alternian Medium is the unique sociological isolation of Medium. Omnipresent in the town is a sense of communal individuality and comprehensive separatism from the world at large. In order to fully express the scope of this, I must occasionally and temporarily forego the premise of psychology and don the hat of a socioeconomic and political scholar, which I must warn that I am not.

Drawing from the fullest extent of my research, a timeline begins to unfold. Medium has always been a relatively small town, and prior to 1994 it was by all accounts that classic sort of small town, wherein one could easily live out a full life without ever significantly leaving and it was rare to have close family located more than twenty miles away. Alternia’s birth could not have come at a more auto-advantageous time: less than three years after the initial advent of digital cellular technology, and well before the golden age of electronically-expanded connectivity could get Medium in its clutches. (More on this later.)

The Dawn of Alternia heralded the start of the development of Medium’s isolation proper. I have come to understand that this stark isolationism metastasized as it did due to coaxing on two fronts: Alternia and Medium, or the subjugators and the subjugated. On one front, the citizenry developed their isolation as a coping mechanism, to aid in normalizing the strikingly abnormal circumstances with which they were faced. Without the contact or context of the outside world, life under Alternia could eventually be perceived as simply life. On the other front, Alternia itself encouraged and enforced point-blank separatism, following in the footsteps of so many deranged totalitarian regimes before it. (More on this later as well.) Medium’s isolation thus became a key factor in the perpetuation of Alternia’s control: keeping the people in line and shielding Alternia from discovery and attack by higher-level government.

Isolationism maintained its iron grip on Medium throughout Alternia’s decennary hiatus, like so many other inscrutable faces of the Alternian Medium. It was preserved both by Medium’s collective post-traumatic stress-- only Medium could possibly understand what Medium had been through-- and the Alternian Medium’s general reactionism and ingrained coping-culture. Even today, despite the inexhaustible supply of boundless connectivity proffered by social media, television, et cetera, and the international interest in Alternia (of which many Mediumites are unaware), Medium remains stanchly separate. It is so separate, in fact, that it functions in many ways more like an independent city-state than a city in a state. For example, Medium legalized same-sex marriage in 2002. That sort of measure is not within a city’s jurisdiction, but HIC don’t care. HIC don’t give a SHIT. [revise before publication.] Medium was, and continued to be, so isolated that even when same-sex marriage was by all means still illegal and invalid, gay couples could enter that non-binding matrimony and experience all the benefits of legal marriage within Medium, often spending years without any knowledge that they weren’t technically married. Since 1996, 95% of ballots cast in Medium have not contained votes on any races or issues above the city level. There is no talk of the 2016 presidential election, the Dakota Access Pipeline protests, or even the Black Lives Matter movement at my workplace- and I work at a police station. I have occasionally mentioned Donald Trump to a friend or acquaintance, and have been met only with a blank stare every

“T’rn off th’light,” Eridan mumbles imperiously just below your ear.

“It’s not a light, smartass, it’s a computer screen. Also I’m like two thirds of the way through this, hold your goddamn horses.”

He makes a drawn-out whiny sound in response, which succeeds in getting you to sigh, grumble something under your breath, and close your laptop, making a mental note to finish reading and send Rose your thoughts in the morning.

* * *

 

On Election Day, you step into a voting booth and skip past everything at the top of your ballot, flipping through the pages until you reach the mayoral section in the automatic procedure stored in the kinetic memory of the Medium citizen body. You cast your vote for Kanaya, who is still running unopposed, and make a few minor decisions regarding local measures and candidates.

As you head back to the station, you spare a few thoughts to the improbability of Kanaya’s lack of opposition. Looking back on Alternia’s original success in controlling Medium via a puppet mayor, you would’ve expected them to posit their own candidate.

Then again, Captor was originally sworn in as an interim mayor.

You set your focus back to the road, pushing away the deep-seated sense of anxiety that starts to surround you.

* * *

 

The next morning, your coffee comes with half of a conversation between Meenah and Kurloz regarding the election, in which Kurloz said Alternia doesn’t have any major, concrete plans regarding Kanaya, but cryptically mentions a gift from them to congratulate her on her victory. An hour or so later, you learn that someone broke into the mayor’s office in the dead of night and left what Aradia soon confirms to be a human heart on her desk. You don’t know how they got in, or whose heart it was (all known victims so far have been found with all internal organs present), but it’s pretty clear that you have been fully validated in your concern for Kanaya’s safety.

* * *

 

You fucking hate jogging. In fact, there are few things in the world you despise more than jogging.  In your opinion, humans (or at the very least, humans named Karkat Vantas) evolved to sprint short distances when being chased or chasing something, not run slowly and kind of bouncily for excruciatingly extended amounts of time just for the hell of it. There’s also a kinship of sorts shared between joggers in that they’re all priggish douchebags, and you violently loathe the idea of ever being pegged as one of them.

In a pathetic situational irony, of course, moderated exercise helps you avoid sickle cell crises, and a certain level of physical fitness and endurance is required in order to be on the police force, so approximately once a month Eridan’s nagging and your attachment to your job drive you to lace up a pair of bullshit running shoes and go for a jog.

On this particular occasion, your route takes you on the loop around a certain park, red leaves crunching at your footfall. You make it about halfway before you reach a pavilion of sorts located on the edge of a relatively well-trafficked part of town. There, you walk over to a weathered metal bench, stretch, and sit down, puffs of breath visible against a stark backdrop of cloudy sky and bare trees and concrete. This is one of those conjoined-twin benches, two seats sharing one arched backrest. You take a sip from your water bottle and turn off the music playing through your one earbud. 

“Nice to see  _ you  _ for once,” says the person sitting to your left on the other side of the bench, holding her phone to her ear.

“You see me almost every fucking morning,” you tell her.

“Yeah, but then I don’t get to talk to you,” Meenah replies.

“Whatever,” you say dismissively. “I’ve looked through all the notes you’ve given me and at least skimmed the footage from the cameras, so basically, uh, how are you doing? How are you feeling about everything? Is there anything you think needs to be said in person?”

People walk down the street and around the pavilion, nearly all focused straight ahead and moving with purpose. Very few notice you, and those who do seem to recognize Meenah and walk faster. You can’t see her, but you’re pretty sure she shrugs. “Feels like it’s going well. Yeah. I ain’t felt like I’m in no immediate kinda danger of discovery at any point so far, an’ Kurloz seems pretty trustin’ with me. Did try an’ get me to ‘prove my loyalty’ an’ bullshit one time, you saw, but I told him I’m a fuckin’ Peixes, I ain’t need to prove shit to no one, an’ he ain’t brought it up again. I fuckin’ hate the music at Starbucks, though,” she adds. 

You nod, finishing up the notes you’re taking on your phone. Before you can turn it off and respond, she speaks up again. “One thing’s been on my mind though, jus’ by the way, is Kurloz told me he didn’t come back to Medium ‘till a couple weeks ago.”

“Our information supports that,” you respond, a little confused.

“No, I know, I got that. But the thing is, then shit jus’ lowkey don’t make sense. Cuz the deal with Alternia, see, an’ the deal with caste violence back in the day, was you could never spill higher blood than your own.” You know this; you remember Gamzee and Eridan talking about it. “So I just been wonderin’ how the fuck they justified cullin’ Feferi without Kurloz around to do it, you know?”

You freeze, your mind spinning into overdrive. This isn’t a crisis, you can deal with this easily. Say, shit, you don’t know either, that’s juggalos for you; give her some bullshit possible answer. But she’s barely been in over a week and she’s already got enough circumstantial evidence for you to arrest Eridan and Gamzee. She doesn’t realize that, of course, but next time she might.

Your mind spins on to the next step.  _ Fix this. _

Ideas and information swirl in your head-- and then stop. Rewind.

That actually could work.

You know Meenah. She might be bold, even brash, but she’s not stupid or suicidal. She isn’t  _ afraid _ , but she recognizes the danger she’s in and always puts self-preservation first. She talks easily about Feferi’s death-- at most, she’s strongly irritated, but not passionately vengeful. Other than that, she’s only with the cops for money and thrill.

You breathe in. “Someone else with AB- blood did it,” you say, quietly but firmly.

There’s a pause. “Wait, but… What are you--” She stops, because she knows what you’re saying. “Explain,” she revises. “You get to watch me sleep, you got to tell me what you know.”

She knows, she can tell, she can figure it out, but she wants to hear you say it. You don’t blame her.

Your eyes trace the twisted branches of the trees ahead of you. 

“Eridan and Gamzee are the leaders of Alternia,” you say softly, and there’s something comforting in the way the truth is lost to the cold grey sky, in being heard, and recognized, and released; the closest you imagine you can get to forgiveness.

* * *

 

A minute passes in silence. “So… what?” Meenah asks. “You don’t seem like the type to be with Alternia, but maybe you just a damn good actor. Explains why you ain’t dead, at least.”

“I’m not with Alternia. Never. I just protect them-- just the two of them. And they protect me.”

Meenah gives half a soft laugh, understanding. “You tryna fix them,” she translates. Your eyes widen, surprised at how easily she read you. “I had a girlfriend who tried the same shit with me, back when I wasn’t the peaceful vanilla angel I am now.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it work?”

She makes a sound that could either be a laugh or a sigh. “I ain’t no vanilla angel, boy,” she says by way of an answer, her tone a little softer than usual. “We was never a good pair, though. I was all rough an’ mean, fresh out an adolescence full’a scarin’ people to get what I wanted an’ dealin’ with the most violent fucks you ever seen, and she was a good bit a’ that too, but all squishy in the middle. Like you.” You scoff, but don’t interrupt. “I never knew how to hold her soft enough to keep from bruisin’ her.” She pauses there, just for a moment. “Then she made some shit decisions an’ took a lotta wrong turns an’ turned out worse than I ever been. The kinda bad bitch you ain’t want in yo bed.”

“Where is she now?”

It’s definitely a sigh this time. “Apparently a few months back, she threw drain cleaner in a cop’s eyes and went to prison.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say. “Uh, shit.”

“Ain’t a big deal. You got more bullshit to handle, huh.”

“Yeah.” You look at your hands for a second. “Do you think it could work, though? I mean, in a better relationship. No offense.”

“Shit if I know. Probably depends on, like, if man is inherently evil or some shit like that. I also ain’t even seen either of ‘em in close to ten years. Still, I’d say if anybody can manage it, that’s you, and shit’s worth a shot, but I ain’t got jack shit morals, so.”

Your watch beeps. “Fuck, I should get going.”

“Aight. I figure how this works is if I tell the cops what you told me, you tell your husband I’m with the cops and we both dead gays walkin’.”

You sigh a little. This was never something you wanted to do. “That’s pretty much exactly the way this works.”

“Chill,” she says as you start to get up. “Jus’ know, that shit works both ways.”

“I know,” you reply after a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily for you, the narrator mercifully neglects to mention that you are wearing running shorts during your conversation with Meenah, because if they did mention it no one would be able to take that scene or you seriously.


	24. Gay Man Bullies Asexual Cop by Getting to Third Base in House She's Surveilling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drugs are busted; criminals are suspected of criminal activity; times are had; distressing texts are received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry it took me so long to start writing this again a a a a a  
> heres a quick and generally fun chapter to make up for it before we start getting into the rough shit. aka welcome to the second most sinful chapter of fix you, right after signless/disciple sexts read by their orphaned children  
> (comments make me write faster;) )

Meenah’s espionage efforts have quickly become an indispensable asset to the Alternia investigation, and an indispensible asset to your efforts to thwart it (why? for how long? you try not to think about it). One Tuesday night, Gamzee fucking Makara shows up in Kurloz’s apartment for some ‘catch-up’ with Meenah. You casually stop recording the video and audio feeds, and Meenah casually asks Gamzee where the fuck Alternia gets all its drugs from, and so the police find out how Alternia uses Medium’s sewer systems, mostly remodeled during the Captive Administration, to smuggle goods and people alike. This information, combined with a decoded intercept referring to the “FORK EAST OF SASSACRE”, allows Officer Strider to lead a successful bust of a literally underground heroin handoff. Two police officers died in the confrontation, which you knew as soon as you woke up thanks to the M.P.D. text alerts telling you CODE 3333: OFFICER KILLED IN LINE OF DUTY and stating the name, time, and probable cause. Still, and although three of the four juggalos involved were immediately killed in combat and the one remaining bit her tongue off Kurloz-style (you’re so glad you weren’t there), you’re left with more leads than ever. Which incidentally means you have less time than ever, but it’s easy to put that out of your mind when Reggie Pyrope is buying everyone’s drinks over lunch break.

* * *

Three days later, when you walk into the office, you find Terezi, Rose, and Jane waiting for you like they’re about to stage an intervention.

“Come in, Karkat,” Rose greets you coolly, standing up and closing the door behind you. You hear the lock click and the deadbolt slide into your place with an ominous thunk. Your heart rate escalates, but you keep your expression blank.

“Where’s Nepeta?” you ask casually, looking around. “Is she going to be late again, because I swear to fuck--”

“Nepeta’s taking a walk,” Terezi interrupts. “This conversation is violet-classified.”

Oh, fuck.

Okay. This could just have something to do with Meenah-- but the feeling in the office indicates otherwise. You pull a chair into the circle they’ve formed. “You understand that you are absolutely obligated not to share any part of this conversation with anyone outside this room, yes? No exceptions,” Jane adds firmly.

“Yeah, I know how the clearance system works, no need to be so goddamn condescending,” you snap. “I got it. What’s this about.”

Rose clears her throat. “We can’t ignore how quick Alternia has been to trust Meenah, given no evidence of her loyalty besides her name. And considering what we know about Alternia’s affinity for its unholy trinity, if you will, this would make considerably more sense if a Peixes were the last piece of the box set--”

“We have to suspect Ampora,” Terezi interrupts.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” you exclaim immediately. Terezi opens her mouth to respond, but you cut her off. “Look, I could list all seven hundred and fucking sixty-three reasons it isn’t Eridan, but that would be an egregious waste of time because to put it painfully simply, I would know if my husband was a serial killer. I’ve said it a thousand goddamn times and I’ll say it again every time you fucks have the gall to assume I’m married to a murderer purely because he had a shitty father.” It’s easy to say this with conviction, because it’s not a lie. You do know.

Jane sighs. Terezi raises an eyebrow.

Rose nods thoughtfully, then cocks her head. “Are you willing to test that?”

You scowl, but you know the answer has to be yes.

* * *

“I’m home,” calls Eridan around six-thirty that evening.

“Oh, hey,” you reply as the front door closes with its echoing thud. You shut down your laptop and haul yourself up off the couch, stepping into the foyer just as he flips on the light. He kisses you on the cheek. “How was work?” you ask.

He groans. “I’ll tell you about it later. My turn for dinner, yeah?” You know he’s not particularly happy about the bust (and neither is Gamzee), but this seems definitively like an office-drama issue. Like he won't get a fucking death sentence if he talks about it while your colleagues are listening.

“Yeah.” You squeeze his upper arm comfortingly. “We can order pizza if you’re too tired.”

“Ain’t more tired than usual,” he says dismissively. “I can manage leftovers.”

“Okay.” You adjust his glasses, then go back into the living room and flop down on the sofa, listening to your husband start clattering around in the kitchen. This is as good a time as any, you figure; you pull out your phone and send a text to him.

**THE HOUSE IS BUGGED.**

You hear Eridan stop moving for a second, and immediately delete the message from your phone.

 

* * *

 

Through dinner, you make basic conversation (mostly Eridan complaining about work), but he keeps shooting you pregnant looks. You know you need to have a conversation with him-- without Terezi listening in.

When you’ve both finished eating, you watch Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, curled up on the couch cradling a bowl of ice cream with Eridan’s arm around your shoulders. After the movie, you and Eridan bring your bowls into the kitchen; you finish loading the dishwasher and slam it closed, and an idea comes to you as he licks the last drops from his fingers.

You rotate the machine’s knobs to the correct settings and move closer to Eridan as it initializes, hooking your arms around his neck. “Sorry work was bullshit.”

His hands find a place at your hips; he touches his forehead to yours and you close your eyes. “Mm. It was terrible,” he replies in his Pity Me voice. “I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

“Uh huh.”  
“Yeah.” Suggestively, _almost_ jokingly, he lowers his voice so that you can barely hear it over the churning of the dishwasher. “There’s only one thing that can save me now.”

You snort, then pull back a few inches and open your eyes. “Okay.”

He arches an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Okay?”

“I know what I said, dumbass,” you reply derisively, letting your hands trail around to the front of his shirt. You reach up and remove his glasses, folding them carefully and placing them on the counter before you lean up to kiss him.  
His grip on your waist tightens gently; your own hands find purchase against his chest and in his hair respectively. Your fingers twist themselves into his curls as the needy warmth of his lips pulls you in until your plan nearly fades from your mind entirely. If Terezi’s intent upon listening (and maybe Rose on watching, if you’re in the range of the camera in the hall), you might as well put on a show.

“What’re you doing?” he breathes in your ear a minute or two later, definitively inaudible to anything much farther away from him than you are, as you break away from his lips in order to press reverent kisses along the base of his neck.

“Just-- follow my lead,” you murmur into him, then pause. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” he replies quickly, moving to nuzzle your hair. “I c’n manage that.” One of his hands slips up under your shirt, the cold metal of his wedding ring against your warm skin sending a tiny shiver down your spine. Fuck, that feels nice. Your arm hooks around his neck again as you lean up to gently, lovingly nip at the corner of his jaw (relishing the smell of him, some pretentious Burberry jasmine shit that you’ll never tell him how much you like on top of something you’ve only been able to adequately describe as Eridan, the earthy aquaticy smell and the salty warm taste of his skin); he gives a little laugh and tilts his head to press a clumsy kiss to your cheekbone, your cheek, your lips, filling you with tingling electricity. He pulls you closer to him, breathing considerably more heavily than usual, one hand against the small of your back, as your own hand on his chest moves to struggle with the top button on his dumbass shirt, your typical relative deftness completely outweighed by the heat in the pit of your stomach and what a goddamn idiot this self-assured dick makes out of you. You hope Terezi is fucking enjoying this. (You know she’s not. You wonder if this constitutes aphobia.)

After some (indescribable) amount of time, when you’ve all but gotten his shirt off, Eridan pulls away and cups the side of your face in his hand, a few stray locks of his now-messy hair hanging in his face. His eyes catch you, endless blue-violet and crinkled at the edges as he smiles down at you, the big soft smile he only ever gives you-- the one he gave you when you forgot your vows, when he secretly visited you the morning of your wedding, when you first agreed to go out with him, when you finally agreed to move in with him, when you finally got approved to run the Alternia investigation and you were so happy you almost cried, when you broke a broom trying to kill a spider, when you shoved him into the cold shin-deep surf on your honeymoon and he pulled you down after him and the two of you sat tangled together with feet and knees digging into the sand until you couldn’t feel your legs at all. He smiles down at you with his slightly crooked nose and even here, with Terezi listening for the slightest indication of Eridan’s guilt, everything will be okay. He’s yours.

"You wanna go upstairs?” he asks, a little out of breath. The dishwasher creaks and churns.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you retort, hooking two fingers through his belt loop and leading him out of the kitchen.

When you reach your room, you tug off your sweatshirt, then practically shove Eridan onto your bed and climb on top of him, straddling his hips, to wrestle off what remains of his douchey button-up. He runs his hands up and down your torso, stealing kisses from you as you valiantly battle against his shirt, and then grabs your waist and rolls over so that you’re the one on your back. This is your Eridan, the guy who leans down and presses his mouth to your neck, your collarbone, all demanding and warm and gentle like you’re some kind of fucking glass sculpture, who lifts himself up on his elbows to look at you with those eyes as your fingertips play connect-the-dots with the light freckles scattered across his shoulders by the desert sun. He’s perfect, right now, all built out of sunshine and caring and that smile. He’s perfect, and he’s yours.

You grab him, kiss him full on the lips, and roll right back over on top of him, pressing your hips together. “Sh-shit, Kar,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer.

“Hmm,” you reply, running your open palm over his evening stubble, your nose an inch away from his as he smiles up at you and you smile down at him because holy _fuck_ he’s beautiful. He pulls you into another kiss, which results in more nice touching, which results in you wearing only your boxers and socks by the time you remember what’s going on.

You sit up, pushing your hair away from your face and gently pressing his shoulders back down when he tries to follow you. “I should go turn out all the lights downstairs,” you explain as you climb off him. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

He gives you a somehow innocent-yet-roguish grin and raises an eyebrow. “Do you got those handcuffs that go with your cop shit?”

You suddenly want to die.

Your mouth just sort of hangs there for a second before you remember you’re supposed to make sounds out of it. You splutter some poor excuse for a response, then turn and hurry downstairs, quickly turning off the camera in the hallway and muttering “Fuck off” into the mic behind the couch before disconnecting that as well. You then head back up to the bedroom and say, “Did you kick my pants all the way under the bed? Holy fuck, let me get them out,” before your husband can get a word in. Eridan gives you a confused look, but lets you get down on the floor and reach under your bed to disconnect the final mic.

“You traitorous _pile_ of assholes, I can’t believe you said that shit about the cuffs,” you begin immediately. “No way in hell am I ever gonna hear the end of that, thanks to you.”

“You mean you didn’t bring ‘em up here?” Eridan replies, feigning ( _???_ ) disappointment.

“That’s exactly what I fucking mean,” you answer gruffly, sitting down on the bed beside him; he drapes himself across your lap, adjusting his ridiculous blue boxers.

“So what was that all about, anyway?”

“You know Terezi’s been suspicious as fuck of you forever, man,” you explain, casually rubbing the inside of his thigh with your thumb because you know he likes that. “She got Rose and Jane on her side, and the only way I could convince them that I would know if you were involved, which has been my argument all along, was to let them tap the house.” Sure enough, his eyes flutter closed and he rests his head against your shoulder, exhaling audibly, though you can tell he’s still awake. “But this gave me a reason to turn everything off, and tomorrow when Terezi inevitably skewers me on the unapologetically phallic pike of public mockery I’ll have a reason to be indignant enough to have a reason not to consent to doing it again, and honestly everyone will be a little too uncomfortable with the whole thing to legitimately revisit you as a suspect for the foreseeable future unless you do something unprecedentedly idiotic.”

He nods slightly. “Smart.”

You trace a little heart shape into his inner thigh. “Thanks."

* * *

The next morning, when you walk into the station, a gratingly gleeful voice near the copier calls out, “Do I hear the beleaguered stomp-stomp trudge of Medium’s kinkiest detective?”

You immediately sit down on the floor and cover your face with your hands.

Jane pokes her head out of the office. “There you are! I thought your undershorts were very cute, Karkat,” she says sweetly, then bursts into a fit of giggles and hurries back inside.

Rose gives you a vaguely sympathetic look as Terezi pokes you with her cane and asks if you like it.

* * *

The morning after that, you wake up to Eridan sleepily nuzzling the back of your head. You reach over to the nightstand to check your phone, and are immediately sick to your stomach. At 3:54 am, you received a text alert from the Medium P.D. network:

**CODE 3333: OFFICER KILLED IN LINE OF DUTY**

**TIME OF DEATH: 0342H**

**PROBABLE CAUSE: GUNSHOT TO FOREHEAD**

**OFFICER’S NAME: D. STRIDER  
INVESTIGATION PENDING**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be about religion tho so its all goodin the eyes of tHe MeSsIaHs  
> pls comment yall im tired and need validation  
> thanks so much to those of u who have been commenting u make this fic what it is and i owe u my life

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a story of this sort of genre, fanfic or otherwise, so please let me know what you think!


End file.
